Invictus Part One
by That-Fresh-Rain-Smell
Summary: The entirety of the Harry Potter series, re-written to my liking. SS/HP
1. Prologue: Out From the Night

A/N: This is a prologue I've created to fix the 'the-first-6-chapters-don't-grab-the-reader' problem. I was going to wait until the story was done, but I've realized that writing this first will keep me on the correct path, keep me writing through the end, and inspire me to write chapter 23. Thus, enjoy the sneak-peak.

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Prologue: Out From the Night

The dark outline of the castle was strange against a twilight sky; no lights lit the many narrow windows that peppered the walls. He imagined that the large pile of stones had only been this deserted when it was originally built, and he felt an uncomfortable connection to that age past.

Now, as he rested against a tree near the vacated hut of the groundskeeper, he looked out towards the desolate, dark view, and sighed.

This place was no longer home. It had been vacated during the height of war—abandoned as the war grew to unthinkable proportions; grew to include the masses of the world, to include the world of life in its entirety.

Everyone had run, been separated, or died, that day. Harry shivered as he remembered the screaming, the howl of the wind; the darkness.

Nothing he could ever do would rectify the crime he had committed; what he thought necessary back then became wholly inadequate reasoning as time went on.

Time. It seemed to stretch before him now. Only a few days ago, time had been the quick breath between one moment and the next. Time had been the short circuits of thought as they sparked in his brain. Time had been the one thing he had never considered in his headlong rush. Now, time weighed upon his shoulders, forcing him to realize that he was _alive_. War was said to teach mortality; but Harry felt immortal, alone.

Time stretched before him and its weight grew heavier. The mistakes he had made, the decisions—the _crimes_ suddenly had much more meaning, now that he had been left alive. But after all that had come to pass, he knew those burdens; was familiar with them in such an intimate way he ceased to agonize over them. It was his responsibility, his justice, to carry his own burdens. And he would. But the guilt, shame, loneliness, and pain would not consume him. He was able to accept, but not to concede.

He _was_ alive. And, selfish as it was, he yearned to enjoy such vitality.

He looked up at the castle, black against a dark-blue sky, and searched for any sign of life.

Though he saw nothing, he knew there was only one soul, one fire burning in the castle before him, and he began to take slow, measured steps forwards. Towards that other soul, towards tomorrow, towards what little he had left.

He would not falter, not here and not now. There had been too much pain in order to arrive at this place, this spot in time. He did not take those sacrifices lightly.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door and went inside.

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A/N: please review! :)


	2. Chapter 1: Scotch and Tea

Invictus

Authors' Note: I'm writing this to see how greatly my writing style has changed since I last wrote Fanfiction. The last one I wrote, I think, was 'Inkstains', two years ago. I do not think I will be continuing with that one, merely because I can't get my head into it. I have a few ideas for it though, so perhaps I will be able to get into it again along the course of writing this one. I am not much for writing Fanfiction anymore, because I've veered towards original too much and I haven't got much time, anyway. Thus I can't promise that this one will ever be complete, either. I plan for it to be a multichapter, starting in second year and ending in sixth. It will be a snarry, but I doubt there will be any sexual interaction until at least fifth year. I'm going to stay very cannon with the characters (as much as I can). Also I might have need of a beta. Please let me know in a review if you think yourself a very good one (or at least a syntax/diction Nazi). One last thing: please review. The reviews I get for this will be compared to the previous ones I have gotten, to examine what change there has been in my writing. I am counting on Kate, Yazzi, happycabbage, paddywaddy, and others to tell me how I have changed. Also, reviews will help me decide to continue Inkstains, or this one.

Summary: The connection between Snape and Harry could have been expanded and explored much more than it was. Also, in the real books, Harry starts his first year bright and inquisitive. He is told he has much power and potential…So why did he turn into a very average wizard who shouts 'Expelliarmus!' at the last battle? Here is my own twist of events from second year forward.

Warnings: Not really sure yet which way I take this. But there is a possibility of bdsm or d/s relationship later on. I will update the warnings as I go.

Pairings: Sirius/Lupin, Snape/Harry, Ron/Hermione

Content Rating: M (eventually it might get too mature for ff.n, so I might put it up somewhere else. Walking the plank, etc. I'll have to look around, but I will warn if the full story or full chapter can't be found here, and let you know where it is.)

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Chapter One: Scotch and Tea

Severus Snape was not normally a contemplative man. Certainly he was a very bright one, capable of quick and logical deductive reasoning, but he wasn't one for nostalgia, and nor was he one for deep reflection. However, sitting in his own rooms, in front of his own fire, with his own bottle of scotch sitting quite comfortably within reach, this was precisely what he was doing.

It was the summer after Harry Potters first year. A quite eventful first year, but what else was to be expected of the-boy-who-lived? Snape sneered at that. Boy-who-lived, indeed! However the child had done it, it had taken no brains, power, or even a pleasant visage. From Potters first year, Snape was pleased to deduce that the boy was altogether a clone of his father, James. Insipid and arrogant, prone to jumping to conclusions and expecting special treatment. For a few terrifying moments before the year had begun, Snape had worried that he would not be able to hate him properly. Being a double-agent and an excellent potions master, Snape was not one to hate indiscriminately. Allowing passionate emotions to take over reason was simply not…reasonable. If he had done such a thing over the past ten years, he would certainly have been dead by now. But oh how he had _wanted_ to hate the young Potter. However he had reserved his judgment on the Potter boy until it was made absolutely clear that there was nothing of merit behind those bright-green eyes. Then, with a certain smugness, he had given himself reign to hate as he ought.

That didn't mean he hadn't done all he could to protect the young boy, or save his life. No, he had a wizards debt to the elder Potter, no matter how greatly he despised it. And then there was Lilly. If for anyone's sake he would protect the child, it was hers. Not to say he wasn't allowed to hate him. Passionately. But Severus Snape knew the difference between duty and emotion—he could hate freely as long as he carried out his task.

There was so much to despise in the young boy that Severus briefly wondered if he was truly Lillys' offspring. Those green eyes were wasted on such a brat. The boy didn't have much room for logic, not like Lilly had. Nor did he have her brains, her enthusiasm, or her dedication. No, Harry Potter was certainly a dismal disappointment. Which of course made it easier to hate him.

With a roar of rage, Snape stood and threw the glass of scotch into the fire, which flared brightly before simmering back down. Lilly, _his_ Lilly, beautiful, smart, and fun, had _wasted_ herself. And what had come of it? This _boy_, this pathetic ghost of his father. Nothing remained of the woman he had once loved. _Nothing._ Oh yes, it would be quite easy to hate Harry Potter. Severus only wished it wasn't. Had _something_ of her remained…She was dead. And Snape had several debts to take care of.

Moving towards his bedroom door, Snape decided that there should certainly be no more 'contemplation'. Not if it resulted in the loss of perfectly good scotch.

* * *

Harry Potter was definitely one for contemplation. While he had been so caught up in his first year at Hogwarts that he hadn't had much time or energy to devote to reflection, he had spent the first ten years of his life with not much to do _but_ contemplate. Back in his uncle's home, he now had an abundance of time for the digestion of his first year at Wizards school. And he saw that things had come off rather badly. Voldemort had been foiled, true. But his actions hadn't been _necessary_. The charm Dumbledore had put on the mirror was certainly sufficient in keeping Quirrel from the stone. In fact, with Harrys rash action, Voldemort had gotten _closer _to the stone then he otherwise would have.

This troubled Harry. Hermione was a smart witch, but even _she_ had been caught up in the fever of the mystery. _None_ of them had given actual thought to their actions—they had been so sure of themselves. They were _first years_. While it was true that they had figured out a great majority of the mystery on their own, which should be commended, they hadn't deduced the important parts. They had jumped to conclusions, acted on those conclusions, and nearly gotten themselves _killed_. Or expelled. He chuckled to himself over the memory of Hermiones words after they had found themselves in the third-floor corridor. Picking up his tea, he sipped it before he realized it was cold. Grimacing, he set it down on the dining room table and ran a hand through his hair. The Dursleys would be back soon.

Harry Potter had always been a quiet child. His relatives discouraged curiosity, and as a rule he kept mostly to himself—giving him a lot of time to think. As a result of this thinking, he liked to fancy, he was a bit more mentally mature than the rest of his age group. So why hadn't he _acted_ like it?

They'd jumped on Snape because Snape was a nasty person. But shouldn't Harry, of all people, know that how a person chose to act didn't mean that was the way they _were_? The neighborhood considered the Dursleys to be upstanding citizens, and Harry knew that this was certainly not true. So couldn't the opposite be said for Snape? Well, maybe. He wasn't going to allow for more than that. _Maybe_ Snape acted like a nasty git, and in reality he _wasn't_. Maybe. Harrys dislike was too strong to go beyond 'maybe', but at least he had contemplated the thought. Briefly. He'd keep it in the back of his mind.

The important thing, he decided, was that next year he needed to think more often. Think and observe, contemplate his actions and the possible results before walking blindly into disaster. Hadn't this past year taught him he needed to do just that?

Hm. Maybe Slytherin wasn't such a bad house, after all. He smirked to himself at that thought, wondering how Ron and Hermione might react to it. Ron wasn't exactly capable of too much logic, but Hermione might understand. Maybe.

The front door slammed and he was startled out of his thoughts. Well, he had a whole summer left for contemplation, didn't he? He smiled wryly and stood, disposing of his cold tea and making a valiant effort at appearing invisible.

* * *

AN: Sorry it's so short, but I want to get reactions before I continue. I think it's a bit different from my normal stuff. Also, I'd like to know if Harry seems ooc—he IS using his brain, after all. But the Harry in book one is really a bright and thoughtful kid—which is why I'm so pissed that he turned into a dumb, fuddly Gryffindor. Anyhow, review?

07.20.10 Edit: I've been shown that the first 5-6 chapters are quick and rather detached; not much of a 'grab'. I'll be fixing that once I finish this story, but for now I encourage you to 'carry on', because the later chapters become SO much better. :)


	3. Chapter 2: Logic

Chapter Two: Logic

"Sir?" Hermione Granger asked nervously as she stood before her Professors desk.

"Yes?" Snape groused, completely beyond simple irritation after such an abysmal display of the second-year potions class. It was one thing to deal with Granger in class, and an altogether different thing to put up with her _after_ class. Didn't the twit ask enough questions?

"I—I just wanted to apologize to you, for last year. I didn't—there was no time last year, and I just wanted to say—sorry!" She was biting her lip, looking like she expected the extremely malicious side of her potions professor.

"For what, exactly?" Snape inquired, never looking up from the paper he was grading.

"For—for suspecting you of being after the stone with no proof beyond our own dislike for you, sir." Her voice was trembling less, and Snape finally looked up with a full glower, catching her eyes and holding them with his own.

"If I cared about your opinions Granger, I would undoubtedly be relived. As it is, you are wasting my time. Get out." Granger apologized for disturbing him—_apologized!_—and left the classroom hurriedly.

Once he was certain he was alone, Snape set his quill down and leaned back in his chair. He supposed it was not too odd, for Miss Granger to apologize to him. She was a smart girl, even if she was a bit too naïve to realize how little that mattered without critical thinking and cunning. And she was a Gryffindor too, meaning she had the courage to face her own mistakes, and the smarts to make herself do so. Not to mention her intelligence probably caused her to have a firm loyalty to truth, fact, and reason. So yes, it was not all too odd, really. He grimaced. She was still a know-it-all. _Insufferable_ when faced with Snapes own experience and intelligence, the inexperienced and naïve intelligence of the young girl did nothing but irritate him to no end.

No, even with her apology, Snape was still not inclined towards the girl. And with the company she kept, it was certainly better to simply hate the three of them indiscriminately. It would certainly be easier.

Remembering his previous decision to avoid contemplation, he put those thoughts from his mind and returned to slashing the essay in front of him with sporadic red marks.

* * *

"You did _what?!"_ Ron yelped that night at dinner, his surprise and disgust evident on his face.

"_Hush_ Ronald! I apologized to Professor Snape!" She snuck a glance at Harry. He looked surprised, certainly, but not as disgusted as Ron. He actually looked kind of thoughtful. She stored that information for later—certainly _Harry_ couldn't be more sympathetic to the idea than _Ron_. Especially since Harry attracted more nastiness from Snape then either of the others. Certainly not.

"But _why?_" Ron asked, voice strangled.

"Because, Ron. We were _wrong_, and had we not jumped to conclusions and thought things through, we wouldn't have nearly been _killed!_"

"but—but—Harry! Help me out here! We didn't jump to any conclusions! I mean, I admit we were wrong, but we had every right to think it was Snape! Everything pointed to him!" Harry shook his head slowly and leaned back from the table, finished with his mean.

"Ron, I think Hermiones right. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's still a nasty git and I wouldn't go so far as to actually _apologize_ to him, but we _were_ wrong, and we _did_ jump to conclusions. If we hadn't been biased about Snape, we might have interpreted his conversations with Quirrel differently." Hermione looked proud and pleased.

"Why, Harry! That was extremely good reasoning and a very mature attitude!" She beamed at him, and Rons frown grew deeper. Harry just laughed.

"I _do_ have a brain. I was just so…overwhelmed last year that I didn't use it much. That doesn't mean I like Snape any more though. He's still and absolute git and a nasty piece of work as I ever saw. For whatever reason, though, he saved my arse last year and we accused him wrongfully. Maybe he's got…darker reasons to keep me alive, but for now his actions will have to speak for him instead of his words." Hermiones grinned widened, if that was possible.

"Harry, I'm so proud of you!" She gushed. Ron muttered something nasty and stood up.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your Harry Potter Worship. Call me when you've got use for me again." And with that he walked off. Hermione looked hurt and startled.

"Ron!" she called, anxiety creeping into her voice.

"I'll get him," Harry said, standing and grabbing his books. "He'll calm down. He just needs to see reason, is all." Hermione bit her lip for the third time that day and nodded, worry covering her features. Harry hurried out after his friend, finding him back in the common room already, and sulking.

"Hey mate," Harry said cheerfully, trying to pull his friend out of it. Ron grunted. Harry sighed and sat down across from him, looping his arms over his knees.

"Look, Hermione and I aren't saying we _like_ Snape or anything, but we _were_ wrong and we _did_ act poorly. It was still brilliant, and everything, but think about it. Quirrel never could have gotten the stone out of that mirror, not with Dumbledores spell. _Because_ I went down there, he almost got it, and you and I almost died! I mean, you can see why Hermione and I think we should think harder, next time, right?"

"I just don't see how _you_ became a brainiac all the sudden." Ron spat, glaring. Harry laughed.

"I'm not! I just didn't have anything to _do_ at the Dursleys _besides_ think! And because I thought things over _all summer_, I came to the same conclusion it probably took Hermione two seconds to make!" Ron chuckled against his will, then immediately looked chagrin about it.

"Still, she didn't have to bloody _praise_ you for it! I mean, it's Snape. Who cares?" Harry shrugged.

"Dunno. But next time I walk into certain danger, I want to be sure it's necessary, that's all." Ron nodded.

"I guess that's pretty reasonable. Sorry for getting all outta whack, mate." He put out his hand, and Harry shook it, grinning.

"No worries. I'd have done the same. I mean, it _is_ Snape we're talking about." Ron grinned back and they both laughed at the thought of _apologizing_ to Snape.

Emboldened by Harrys easy acceptance of her logic, Hermione sought out Snape once again after class.

* * *

"Sir?"

"_What_, Granger?" He seemed about ready to bite. Or hex. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea.

"I just—I wanted to ask you, could you, maybe if—" She stuttered, suddenly realizing how ridiculous she must sound.

"_Out with it,_ Granger, I don't have the time or patience for your senseless babble." She stared at him wide-eyed and managed to blurt her entire idea out in one sentence.

"I was just wondering if you could give me extra lessons on logic because while I'm top of the class my deductive reasoning skills obviously aren't exactly top-notch, and I was just wondering, since you seem to have a really rational mind, if you could, you know—Teach me." Snape glared at her for a few long seconds before sneering.

"Anything I might have to teach you, Miss Granger, is certainly not suitable for a second year. You'll have to learn to reasonably deduce on your own." Hermiones eyes had widened at the mention of forbidden knowledge, and she pressed the issue.

"But sir! Certainly with—with all that happened last year, it would be a good idea to be prepared! I mean, I might be a second year, but doesn't the situation call for more advanced study?"

"More advanced study, Granger? I think not. In fact, I know of no current situation that would require it. You may leave now, before I take off fifty points for wasting my time." Her eyes widened even more and she scampered from the room, leaving behind a _very_ amused Snape.

* * *

Harry was curious. It was a regular quality, which had been strictly repressed by his family for the first ten years of his life. But now, given free reign of curiosity, even _encouraged_ to be curious…Well. He was curious.

His thoughts kept returning to Knockturn Alley. His short visit had been long enough to determine that the place was (mostly) a shady place with dark dealings. However, he guesstimated that there were…interesting things, interesting secrets to be found there. Not all of them bad, dark, or evil. Harry Potter was a very curious young boy.

* * *

Severus Snape strode through the alley, intent on a specific shop with specific necessities. Entering _The Line_, a shop of items that weren't _technically_ illegal, but certainly frowned upon, he removed his hood and looked around. Spotting the aisle with the items he was searching for, he went straight to it, picked a few things out, paid, and left. All under five minutes. Striding back down the alley and towards the opening, he suddenly ran straight into something invisible. That something said 'ouff!', and made a muffled thump as it fell against the pavement. A foot appeared and disappeared as the person under an invisibility cloak hastily stood and attempted to walk on.

Snape wasn't having that though, he grabbed towards what might have been a throat and slammed the unusually light and short person against a wall. Grabbing at invisible cloth, he hastily attempted to remove the cloak.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing—" He stopped dead as Harry Potters very white face suddenly became visible.

"Potter! What in the _hell_ are you doing wandering around _here_! Explain yourself immediately!" Snape whispered violently, remembering just in time to keep his voice down in their current surroundings.

"I…" Harry chocked, and Snape was suddenly reminded that he was holding Harry _bloody_ Potter by the throat against a wall. He quickly let go and stepped slightly away, glaring darkly at the young boy.

"_Now."_ He ordered, and Harry glared back hatefully.

"I was just _looking_," He snapped, bundling up his invisibility cloak under his arm.

"_Looking_, Potter? Are you aware of just _where_ you happen to be? I'm sure your fans will be _so_ displeased to find you've been skulking around Knockturn Alley." Harry glared even more hatefully and spit at his Professors feet.  
"I don't _care_ what anyone thinks! I came here on accident this summer and I wanted to _look!_ It seemed like this place had potential to hold interesting things!!!" Snape could hardly speak past the amount of rage he was feeling at the boys utter stupidity.

"Come here. We're going to the headmaster. Now." Harry complied grumpily and Snape apparated them both away from the alley in silence.

* * *

"Headmaster, the boy—"

"That will be quite enough, Severus. Thank you." Albus Dumbledore offered Harry the usual lemon drop as Snape strode angrily out of the office before diving directly into the reason they were there.

"So Harry, why don't you tell me what you were doing in Knockturn Alley today?" Harry didn't seem to hear. Instead he was worrying his lip and concentrating hard on something. Dumbledore, sensing something more serious, waited for Harry to speak.

"Do you trust Professor Snape, sir? With your life? With my life?" Albus was a bit taken aback at this, from a 12 year old, no less! But he answered quickly enough.

"Yes my dear boy, I do. I cannot tell you what proof I have to support my trust, Harry. But I can guarantee you that I could trust Professor Snape with _all_ of our lives, if I needed to." Harry nodded solemnly.

"Okay."

"Now, Harry, I think it would be a good idea for us to talk about your little excursion, hm…?"

* * *

_Summer after Second year._

Severus Snape was contemplating again, against his better judgment. This time, Potter had very nearly died, no matter what Snape had done to circumvent it. The idiot boy! Not only had he broken into Snapes potions cupboard, but he'd snuck into his houses _common room_ to have a chat with _Malfoy_. Could he have had less sense? Snape shook his head, trying to dispel the rising rage and frustration as he retired to his bed. He would think no more of it. What did it matter that Harry Potter was a constant irritation and point of hatred in Snapes life? As long as he lived to stay that way. That was all that mattered. The duty.

* * *

Harry wasn't too happy about his actions in the most recent school year. He'd certainly given _more_ thought to his actions, and he had come out fine, but he was far from self-sufficient or even mature. He'd made too many mistakes. He'd not contemplated the variables in life.

He would just have to do better.

* * *

A/N: Well? How is it so far? Let me know if it's too fast or too ooc, kay? Thanks


	4. Chapter 3: Slytherdor

Chapter Three: Slytherdor

Over the summer, Harry Potter had thought about a great many things. Foremost of his mind had been the way _everyone_ had thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Ron and Hermione were never lumped into the group 'everyone', of course. But the facts remained. No matter how famous or good-natured, no matter how great a Quidditch player, at the first sign of _possible_ darkness, he had been ostracized. Until the whole thing blew over and everyone reverted to normal. The fact remained, however, that people were fickle. This was the main lesson, and, he thought, a good one. He was finding more and more good things about Slytherin—they protected their own, and distrusted everyone else. From the things he'd so far learned, this was quite a good idea. Only 'his own' happened to be Gryffindors. What did that make him? He chuckled to himself. Slytherdor!

"What's so funny mate?" Ron looked up from the Qudditch magazine he had been reading to assess Harrys laughing face.

"N-nothing," Harry managed to gasp before falling into a fit of helpless laughter.

"Harry! What is it?" Ron had set down his magazine by this time, and even Hermione was looking curiously over the top of her most recent book. After the laughter subsided, Harry grew thoughtful, and then suddenly quite serious.

"Can I tell you both something? Without you getting mad? I mean, just listen to me for a sec." He staed at them intently.

"Sure mate…" Ron looked decisively uneasy at the sudden change in demeanor, and Hermione put her book down with a look of concern. "What is it Harry?" She asked worriedly.

"Well, I was just thinking about last year, about how everyone decided that I was the heir of Slytherin." His too friends frowned in agitation and nodded for him to continue. "Well I was just thinking how most of Gryffindor tower turned on me. And then how the Slytherins don't turn on each other. Which made me think that their qualities aren't all that bad—I mean, protect your own and don't trust people easily."

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks.

"Well, I suppose that's true, Harry…But I don't see exactly what's so funny about it." Hermione now looked perplexed.

"Oh, I was just thinking about how I have some of those Slytherin qualities—the good ones, as I reckon them—and thought to myself, 'why, that must make me a Slytherdor!" Hermione stared at him for a minute, before breaking into such a fit of laughter that her book fell off the seat next to her. Ron laughed, though a bit uneasily, but he didn't seem to find it as funny as the other two.

"Yeah mate. Um, really a funny one there…" And Hermione stopped laughing to level him with a look.

"Ronald, I know that Slytherins have a bad reputation, and growing up in the wizarding world as you did can't make you anything but disinclined towards liking them. But you should remember that if 'Slytherin' was equal to 'Evil', the house would have been abolished years ago! The houses are sorted by _good_ qualities, not bad!" She gave him her most reproving stare.

"Yeah….well, I guess. But that doesn't mean Malfoy and Snape aren't total gits." To this the other two agreed heartily, and the train ride returned to its rustling silence.

* * *

"Sir," If the voice had not been unmistakably male, Snape would have sworn that the pesky Granger was back to bother him. As it was, he looked up from his grading to see none other than Harry Potter standing in front of his desk.

"Potter, I cannot imagine that you have anything of merit to say to me at this particular time, as we are only one week into the first semester. Surely you're not here to beg me to allow you to make up the last brew? I seem to be under the distinct impression you do not favor potions."

"No sir—I mean, I'm not here for any of that. I just wanted to—er—apologize."

"Apologize, Potter? My this _must_ be above your normal capabilities, isn't it? Precisely what are you inclined to apologize for?" Harry ran his hand through his stark-black hair and sighed.

"For everything, really. Not for hating you, I feel like I am perfectly under rights, for that. But the rest—suspecting you during first year without proof, saying nasty things about you that were untrue, that stuff." Snape wished that these fool Gryffindors would get apologizing to him out of their heads. Next he'd be seeing Weasly! He found great amusement of the thought, so much so that he nearly snorted.

"I do not see why you seem to think I am concerned about your opinions, Potter. But rest assured that I could care a wit less for your apology, and that it will not help you to get better marks in my class, no matter how much you've hoped for just that." Potter looked almost…_disappointed_. Had he wanted to get better marks? How absurd! Potter should know by now that it took _effort _to get good marks in his class and he'd be damned if…

"Out, Potter. And don't come round after class again unless you're _searching_ for a detention. As it is, fifty points from Gryffindor!" Harry was outraged, and he showed it by stalking from the room and slamming the door.

"Another 10 points from Gryffindor, for sheer discourtesy," Snape muttered as he returned back to work.

* * *

It was only the second week of school and already Harry had a detention. With Snape. Well—it wasn't _his_ fault the man had provided the _perfect_ opportunity to comment on that greasy hair. _Honestly_, he should check out shampoo and conditioner sometime—the school provided it free of charge, after all!

But Harry's mood couldn't be dampened by a simple detention. For one thing, he hadn't seen a _single_ Dementor since the train, and that was enough to make anyone happy. On top of that, Lupin was an excellent teacher, and Malfoy still hadn't come back to class! It was only September 8th, but Harry had high hopes for the school year.

He trotted down the hallways, lost in his thoughts for hopes of a _simple_ and _normal_ school year. So thoroughly was he enmeshed in his thoughts that he managed to run straight into Professor McGonagall.

"Oh! Uh, sorry professor," Harry eyed her worriedly for a moment, but she too, seemed distracted.

"Watch yourself, Potter," she said absently before continuing down the hall. Harry wondered briefly at the lack of severity in her demeanor, but was drawn from it by the realization that he was nearly late. Hurrying forward again, he soon found himself in the potions classroom.

"Clean those," was his only greeting, with Snape gesturing vaguely at the cauldrons without even looking up from his book.

"Interesting book, Snape?" Harry for some reason felt inclined to bait his Potions Master, today. In hindsight it was probably a disastrous inclination. Snape set down the book and rose to loom beside his desk, staring Harry down with those murderous black eyes.

"You will address me as _Professor_, mister Potter, and ten more points from Gryffindor for your cheek. If you would like to avoid further punishment, I suggest you _get to work._" Harry didn't bother replying as he moved towards the mess of cauldrons apprehensively.

Ten minutes later, Harry was deep in thought, moving through the habitual motions of cleaning mechanically. Snape seemed more…serious. Somehow he wasn't sure if that was even possible, but it was. Snape tended to threaten him with a distracted air. When he was insulting Harry he seemed a bit more intent, but as far as Harry could recall, he had never been quite so…Intense. He wondered at what might cause his Potions professor to be _quite_ a bit more hostile and…intense, as usual. As he contemplated this, Harry was horrified to fin that he felt a stirring of…Excitement. Life. Just like he felt on the Quidditch pitch, or when he had faced the Basilisk, and Quirrel. His heart rate had accelerated, and though his hands were perfectly steady as he cleaned, his legs trembled slightly.

This was ridiculous! Why would he be excited about Snapes intensity? _Oh NO_—He hurriedly shut the thought from his mind, and concentrated all his will on cleaning. By the time he had finished there were ten minutes left of the detention, and Harry had forgotten all about anything he might possibly have been thinking of during his time cleaning.

"Sir?" There was that _infernal_ word again, posed in a tone of utter supplication.

"What?" Snape snapped, looking up from his book to see Potter standing beside his desk. _Again._

"I was wondering, what do _you_ think are the most admirable qualities of those sorted into Slytherin?" Snape was secretly a bit startled, but his features remained smooth, with a slight tint of malice.

"Why, Potter, thinking of switching houses? I can assure you that our absolute _best_ qualities follow along the lines of making your life utterly miserable. And if you don't get out of my classroom _right now_, you will see just how right I am." Harry looked startled, then angry.

"It was just a _bloody_ question, poised very _fucking_ respectfully, _sir_." He snapped as he gathered his things and stormed from the room.

"And another ten points…For your language," Snape growled as he picked his book back up.

Ten minutes later, when his eyes had grazed the same paragraph twenty times, Snape sighed irritably and threw the book down onto his desk.

Why was Potter acting so…_odd_? Apologizing, overreacting at Snapes normal comments and insults, asking him _questions_, even, dare he say it, _respectfully?_ What the bloody hell had gotten into him?

Lily might have been his only true friend—ever—but she had never exhibited such ranges in mood and behavior, not like this. Nor, as far as Snape had observed, had James. So what the devil was going on with Potter?

Snape picked up his book and tidied his desk, shutting the classroom door with a solid thunk. As he did so, he reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to be contemplating Potter—or Lily, for that matter. At all. And that was that.

* * *

"Sir?" _Fuck _ that infernal, utterly aggravating and rage-inducing _word_!

"WHAT?" Snape roared before looking up. When he did so, he _almost_ regretted his reaction. Harry Potter was standing in front of his desk, _again_, only this time there were tear marks on his cheeks.

"Potter, if you'd like for someone to sit and listen to your most recent sob-story, I can assure you that I am _not_ inclined to hear your latest pathetic miseries." Harrys face contorted.

"SHUT UP!" He roared, phasing Snape not at all. The boy began to pace, still yelling. Snape prudently flicked his wand to cast a silencing spell around the room. It turned out he was right to think of it.

"YOU BLOODY INSULT ME ALL THE TIME AND WHEN I COME TO YOU, ALL RESPECTFULL, TO ASK YOU SOME SIMPLE FUCKING QUESTIONS, YOU FUCKING SNAP AT ME—WOULD IT KILL YOU TO BE SILENT, FOR A CHANGE? MY GODDAMN GODFATHER _BETRAYS_ MY PARENTS, AND I CAN'T EXACTLY GO TO DUMBLEDORE, NOW CAN I? YOU JUST _FUCKING_ LISTEN TO ME YOU GREASY SOT OR I'LL—"

Snape never found out exactly what Potter was about to threaten, for at that moment the boy chose the time to sit down on the floor and start sobbing into his hands.

"Potter! Stop that this instant! I can hardly answer any questions when you're not in a position to _ask_ any, can I?" Harry stopped abruptly and looked up.

"Really?"

"Apparently I have no choice. It _is_ stated in the rules that a Hogwarts Professor must give any student the time of day if they need to talk to someone. Of _course_ it is I who has the unfortunate pleasure of _your_ visit, when I have capably deflected every other student for the last ten years." Harry let out a weak laugh, and wondered fleetingly if that had been his Professors attempt at a joke. Looking up at the towering man, who happened to be glaring murderously down at him, he supposed not. Getting up, he sat himself properly in a chair before beginning.

"I really am sorry Sir. I know you hate me and all, and trust me it's mutual, but there is no other….source of possible authority on the matter that I _dare_ go to. And even though you might find this hard to believe, I don't want to…do anything stupid. Like chasing after Black or anything. So can you please…do you know—do you know what happened? The full story? All I know is that Sirius Black betrayed my parents to Vol—to, to you-know-who." Snape couldn't help but let out a snort.

"Honestly Potter, you think your parents would allow someone so unstable as to betray them to be your _godfather_?" Harrys face flashed in surprise, but then suddenly lightened considerably, full of excitement.

"You know then? He _didn't_ do it? Who was he? Was he a good person? Who _did_ betray them, then?" Snape sat in deep contemplation for a while—no matter that he had resolved not to contemplate. There were so many secrets. And it wasn't that he wanted Potter to know the secrets—he didn't particularly care about easing the boys mind, after all. But he had a perverse notion to…

"I did."

"WHAT?!" Harry yelped, jumping from his seat and fumbling for his wand. Snape disarmed him silently, and Harry rounded on him in a rage.

"You did _what?"_

"I betrayed them. The entire story is very long and complicated, and I wont bore you with the details. Perhaps you should ask Dumbledore sometime—_he_ certainly knows it all. But when it comes down to it, it was me. _I_ betrayed them, Potter. I was a Death Eater, and I took news of you and your parents directly to the Dark Lord…" Harrys face had gone white, and he was backing slowly towards the door.

"You…You…"

"Oh, Potter, where's that Gryffindor courage they're always talking about? Don't you want to _know_?"

"N-No! Leave me alone!" With that, Harry Potter turned and bolted from the room.

_Well_, Snape thought to himself, thoroughly satisfied. _That is that._ He couldn't help feeling…uncomfortable. But it was nothing that a good deal of scotch couldn't fix.

AN: So....review?


	5. Chapter 4:Truth

Chapter Four: Truth

Harry was overwhelmed. Well, distraught, agonized, enraged…the list could go on. On one hand, he was happy to find that Sirius Black _hadn't_ betrayed his parents after all. But…he decided to make a list.

-Can't talk to Dumbledore. Dumbledore knows more than he tells, and I give away more than I know when I talk to him. A lose-lose situation. Can I trust him? Do I _dare_? He left me with the Dursleys, didn't tell me the answer to why Voldemort wants me, even though he knows it, lies about the mirror of Erised…Best not to chance it.

-Can't tell Ron or Hermione because they'll insist on telling Dumbledore.

-Snape could be lying. In fact, why _would_ he tell me the truth? Then again, why would he lie…?

-Black is on the loose. And obviously looking for me. OR something else in Gryffindor tower, which seems unlikely.

-Either Black did or did not betray my parents.

--Either Snape or Black did it.

-What does Snape have to do with my parents?

-Why was Snape so _mean_? Like he _wanted_ me to be terrified? I mean, other than the Snape-is-still-a-Death-Eater theory…what…?

So…what did he do?

* * *

Harry Potter had grown very quiet. He still laughed and joked with his friends, but now it sounded forced. He still acted nearly the same as he always had, but he seemed to be more contemplative then ever, and it was worrying his friends. It was now May 6th, very close to the end of the year, and certainly _very close_ to exams. Yet Hermione couldn't concentrate.

"Harry, what—" she started, only to be interrupted by a nervous first year carrying a letter. The young boy shoved it into Harrys hands before darting away, leaving Harry perplexed and Hermione disgruntled.

"Gotta go," Harry said after looking at the note. He stood and started to walk off before turning around to face his two friends. "Oh—it's Dumbledore." He said by way of explanation, and the other two look significantly relieved at the thought of Harry talking to the Headmaster.

* * *

"Harry! My dear boy, do sit down. Lemon Drop?" Dumbledore appeared quite happy to see him, and equally as excited about the hard yellow candies he removed from a drawer. Harry declined politely and sat back, waiting, as the Headmaster happily enjoyed his candy.

"Well, lets get straight to the heart of it, shall we my boy? Professor Snape told me about your conversation with him on the 18th of December."

"Uhm—all of it, Professor?" Harry was decisively uneasy, and also feeling slightly foolish for his previous distrust. Dumbledore was just so…_nice._

"Yes, Harry, I do believe he did. And I think…" the Headmaster looked Harry in the eyes for what seemed like an age before continuing. Harry didn't dare blink. Had he broken some kind of serious rule?

"I think, my boy, that it is high time I told you what I know of your parents death. Do you think you can hear and understand me, Harry? It is a great trust I will be putting in you…a great trust." Harry gulped, his mouth having suddenly gone dry.

"I—I think so sir. And if I react…inappropriately, I give you permission to obliviate me." Harry gave the older man a hangdog smile, insinuating he was aware of his somewhat rash and irrational behavior. The Headmaster looked perfectly delighted.

"Why, Harry! That is quite mature of you. Yes, I see now that Severus was right, you are certainly ready for what I may tell you. And if you're not, well, the world with most assuredly force it on you anyway. Where would you like to start?" Harry was feeling overwhelmed.

"When did Professor Snape tell you about our conversation? And why…?"

"My dear Harry, it is not every day that a situation like yours gets brought up to a Professor like Snape. He seemed to feel it was his duty to tell me of the goings-on, as well as the way he might have acted inappropriately, in trying to frighten you."

"He—he did? But then why didn't you call me in sooner? Sir?"

"I'm afraid that I was waiting for you to come to me, Harry. I was quite saddened to find that you seemed to think I was undeserving of your trust."

Harry looked down at his knees, embarrassment and shame welling up inside him.

"I'm sorry sir. I was just so…so confused, I didn't—"

"That's quite alright, my boy. Now where would you like to begin?"

"Uh…I think maybe…start with _who_ exactly betrayed my parents? Or maybe just start from the beginning?" Dumbledore thought for a moment, staring at Harry with an intensity that should have frightened him, if he hadn't been so eager for answers.

"Well my dear boy, I believe the beginning is a bit _too_ far back for the amount of time we have. However, I will start with one perfectly normal evening, in the Hogs Head. I was there to meet with a prospective professor for divination…"

* * *

So Snape had been _trying_ to make Harry hate him. More. Not that it hadn't worked. And indeed he still felt enraged, because to all intents and purposes, Snape _had_ been the original betrayer. But he'd reformed. Dumbledore still hadn't told Harry _why_ he'd crossed over—'That, my dear boy, is between only Professor Snape and I.—but the fact was that he _had_. And Dumbledore trusted him inexplicably. Not that Dumbledore was _all_ trustworthy, but Harry couldn't imagine that he was _evil_ or anything.

_Now_ Harry had a whole new set of things to think about. But the first thing was first. Lupin.

* * *

Lupin, Ron, and Hermione all knew most of the truth now. He couldn't _not_ tell them, and perhaps it would help them all. Lupin now knew that his old best friend wasn't a traitor, and that Pettigrew was the true betrayer. Ron and Hermione were relived to find that Harrys godfather hadn't betrayed his parents, and they were _all_ startled and a bit overwhelmed at the news of the prophecy. But Harry didn't yet have time to think of the prophecy. Voldemort wasn't even back yet—and he might never be—so what was the point in worrying about it until then?

Harry wanted to figure out why Black was ripping up curtains and portraits, and altogether messing about in Gryffindor tower. If he was innocent, and falsely accused, what was he up to?

* * *

As class filed out, Ron and Hermione were arguing over Scabbers and Crookshanks yet again. Harry started to walk away. If he heard one more thing about that rat…

But Lupin grabbed his arm as he started towards the door.

"Rons lost his rat?"

"Yeah. Uh, he says that the cat ate him, but Hermione maintains that that's not true…" Harry couldn't understand why Lupin was so intent on the rat.

"When did Ron get the rat—Scabbers, is it?" Now Lupin was trying for nonchalance, but it wasn't quite working.

"Uh, I think his brother gave it to him, actually…"

"Harry, this is just a wild guess but—Pettigrew was an animangus. He could turn into a rat. Keep an eye out for Scabbers, okay? I'm going to go see the Headmaster." And with that, Lupin left a very surprised Harry standing in the middle of his classroom, late for potions.

* * *

"Albus, I _know_ it's a long-shot, but I've got this feeling…"

"Very well, Remus, I will keep an eye out. Would you mind terribly if I warned certain other Professors to be on the lookout for Mr. Weaslys rat?"

"Not at all, Albus, and thank you."

* * *

Harry Potter was certainly pleased with himself. Perhaps he should have gone to Dumbledore initially, true. But the end result was astounding. Sirius was now a free man—and his godfather!!—Pettigrew had been charged with accomplice to the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and _no one_ had acted rashly or without forethought. It was more than he could have hoped. In fact, it was another lesson. Had Harry not sought the truth before rushing blindly into danger…well, he was just glad that he had learned something.

Now if only he could face the Dursleys for the entire summer.

* * *

AN: So the chapters are starting to pick up and branch off—what do you think? They wont all be like this—circumventing danger and all that. But Harry needed to learn how rational thought could have positive outcomes. Book four will contain _much_ more adventure. And betrayal. And….excitement.

Review?


	6. Chapter 5: A Lost Friend, A Found Ally

Chapter Five: A Lost Friend, a Found Ally

A/N: I have been re-reading the fourth book to give a deeper, stronger re-telling, and in doing so I've found that I _really_ do not like Ron. At the very least, I do not like him with Hermione. I'm not even sure I like him as Harry's friend. As such, I will be changing the original Ron/Hermione pairing to a Hermione/Draco pairing, since I've found some hard evidence of Dracos goodness. I will either change Rons character so completely that he can get along with the Slytherin/Gryffindor relations, or get rid of him entirely. Sorry for those of you who like Ron, but he is just _not_ my definition of a good friend.

* * *

Back for fourth year, and Harry was sitting up in bed after the first feast, thinking over the recent occurrences in his life. He glossed over his stay with the Dursleys—so what if they had been more cruel and unusual than ever? He was a wizard—he could handle it. The World Cup had been…enlightening. Not only had he not been affected by the veela, but Hermione had noticed as well. She hadn't spoken of it, but he had caught her looking at him thoughtfully once or twice. The possible reasons behind such an oddity were things he did _not_ want to consider. So instead he pondered Malfoy.

Malfoy had bumped into them in the woods while they were running from the Death Eaters. And even though he had been scathing and cruel as usual, he _had_ been warning them. Why? Harry was forced to revise his opinion on the other boy. Considering the fact that his father was a very prestigious man, a one-time (still?) Death Eater, and a bastard all together, surely the younger Malfoy felt some pressure? Harry forced himself to consider Malfoys position in a wholly unbiased light. So, maybe. _Maybe_ the other boy wasn't a complete prick. Or maybe he had other reasons for his warning. But either way, Harry would keep the information—the possibilities—in the back of his mind. Hermione, he knew, had noticed as well. What if they compared notes? Maybe without Ron around…

Then there was the rest. Moody being 'attacked', his dream with Voldemort—he would have to see Dumbledore tomorrow—and the Dark Mark. Winky, Crouches house-elf. Did Crouch have _anything_ to do with Death Eaters or Voldemort? Harry would have to look it up…

With that thought, he settled exhaustively into sleep.

* * *

"Harry! My boy, please have a seat. How are you?" Albus Dumbledore took a seat behind his massive, overcrowded desk and stared at Harry expectantly.

"Er…I'm fine, thanks. I actually came to…to ask you a favor." Harry said awkwardly as he took his seat and the proffered lemon drop.

"Certainly my boy, if it is possible I will grant it." The Headmaster had a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes were serious and grave under his long brows.

"I er…I noticed you owned a Pensive, last time I was here. And…well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. I had a dream right before the World Cup, and I woke up with my scar hurting. I remember that the dream had something to do with Voldemort, and Pettigrew, but I can't remember the rest. I know that it's important though, so I was wondering if, I put the memory of the dream into the pensive, and the watched it, maybe it would be clearer?" Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"I am very glad you came to me about this Harry. This is grave indeed. However I suggest you do not try the Pensive approach—and where you learned about those, I would love to know—because the pensive will only show you the dream as you remember it. As you don't remember it very well, it would be a fruitless attempt. Do you see?" Harry nodded, disappointed.

"I uh, I read about the Pensive in _A Short History of Rare Magical Devices and Their Uses._" He said, because it seemed the only thing to say.

"Ah, a bit more advanced reading, hm? Very good my boy, very good. It has always been my opinion that a well-read person is a person to been reckoned with…Just be sure that you do not attempt anything you are not ready for, my boy. The results would be…unpleasant." Harry snorted, thinking about some of the magic he had read about over the summer. 'Unpleasant' was certainly an understatement.

"However, Harry, there might be another way to unearth the dream you had in its entirety. It requires a great amount of trust on your part, though." Harry looked up, again hopeful. He felt that this dream was the key to the danger that seemed to be once again coming alive in Europe.

"What is it, sir?" Dumbledore sighed.

"I was hoping you would never need to learn about this particular brand of magic, Harry. It is very dangerous, in the wrong hands. However in light of your dream…if we are going to go about it, it is best to be thorough. Very well. There is a very difficult form of magic that centers solely on the mind. There are two sides to this magic; Legillimency, and Occlumency. In light of your dream Harry, I would like you to begin studying the rudiments of Occlumency, to protect you from any more dreams of this kind. However the form of magic that will help us to unearth the dream is Legillimency, and you will have to trust me completely…"

* * *

"Hermione, would you like to go to the library to work on our Potions homework?" Nearly two weeks after his visit with Dumbledore, Harry had decided to talk to Hermione—about _all_ that he was thinking. Well, maybe not _all_. The trio were at breakfast, anticipating a brilliant Saturday, and Ron was now looking at Harry as though he was mad.

"Oh, yes Harry! I was just thinking that you had gotten a lot better over the holidays, and I wanted to ask you about the—"

"Well, you two _enjoy_ your work. _I'm_ going to go enjoy my Saturday." Ron sneered nastily, getting up from the table and leaving then behind.

Harry and Hermione shrugged at each other. Ron had been acting increasingly nasty as Harry had started to actually apply himself to his lessons. He had always done marginal amounts of work, before, but the events over the summer had caused him to retreat behind his schoolbooks. With Ron the way he was now, he figured his schoolbooks were the best place to retreat behind. The two of them finished their breakfast in silence, then began to walk off towards the library.

"Hermione, when we get there, I'd like to talk to you about a few things." Hermiones eyes lit up in an uncomfortably knowing way, and she smiled.

"Alright, Harry, I'm sure we can find a secluded spot," she said brightly. He laughed.

"Yeah, considering the entire school is probably out enjoying the day," he responded, and she laughed too. When they got to the library they found themselves a particularly empty stack of books and settled in.

"So, what's up?" Hermione asked him once they had their books propped in a likely manner for studying.

"Well…" He then proceeded to tell her almost everything. His thoughts on Malfoy, Crouch, and the Dark Mark. The full rendition of the dream he'd had, his scar hurting, Legillimency and Occlumency. She exclaimed over the book Dumbledore had given him—_Basic Occlumency Exercises of Beginners_, and asked if she could borrow it. Once she'd finished leafing through it, she became serious.

"This Occlumency is a really great idea, Harry," she said with a tinge of worry to her features.

"I know, I'll start practicing tonight. Dumbledore said it's hard going, and not to get discouraged. I didn't think I had to tell him that I have _very_ good reasons to want to learn." They both laughed a bit at that.

"Well yes, I noticed Malfoy too, like you thought. And I've been watching him closer…I've noticed that he sticks to the same insults. I mean, I know they're _horrible_ insults, but they're strictly the things his family is _supposed_ to uphold, you know, the condemnation of the poor and the muggle-borns. I know it's a long shot, but he really _dosent_ step out of the area he is _expected_ to insult us in. He's no more severe then his has to be, and he tends to say some of the same things over and over. Sometimes I think his animosity is directed more towards himself than at us…" Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, then _you_ can keep an eye on him. Maybe talk to him or something." He said, waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. Hermione turned slightly pink, and he smirked.

"Oh but Harry, I thought you would want that honor!" she retorted, and he hastily changed the subject. Maybe teasing Hermione wasn't as safe as he had thought.

"Anyway, Crouch."

"Oh, yes! Well I think it's quite odd…and I'll definitely look him and his family up. Maybe he or someone in his family _does_ have a connection to Voldemort, and if they do, then it would make more sense…What about this 'loyal servant inside the castle'?" Harry worried his lower lip.

"I don't know. The only new person here so far is Moody. Other than that, perhaps someone from the other schools?" Hermione thought for a moment.

"Maybe. But there will be a lot of publicity with those people. The other students themselves are most likely too young to be considered 'loyal' by an ailing Dark Lord, and the Headmasters will have a lot of attention fixed on them. Still, it's worth keeping an eye on them. On everyone new, really. Including Moody." Harry nodded seriously.

"Why can't we have a _normal_ year?" He asked in exasperation, his brain hurting from all the deep thinking. Hermione sighed as well.

"I don't know Harry. You seem to _attract_ trouble. " He laughed a little at that, as she had intended. "Harry…what about Ron?" Harry looked up warily.

"I don't know, Hermione. He's not…very reasonable, is he? And he and I aren't on the best of terms, either…" Harry didn't want to mention that he was getting pretty annoyed with Ron, himself.

"Right. Well, what Ron doesn't know can't hurt him, hm? Now about this potions essay…"

* * *

That Monday night, September 15th, Harry lay in bed, exhausted. He had resisted the Imperius. A sense of pride overwhelmed him, making him actually eager to try again with Occlumency. He settled into his pillow, concentrating on thinking absolutely nothing...

* * *

He woke feeling well-rested for the first time in a month, and he decided that this was a good indication of his progress in Occlumency. Smiling, he bounded down the stairs, absolutely intent on a good morning, if not a good day. Spotting Hermione in the common room, he walked over to her to tell her the good news.

"Oh Harry that's wonderful!! _I _have news as well. Draco—" At just that moment Ron came down the stairs and saw them. Glowering mightily, he headed towards the portrait-hole and exited without a word. Hermione had a slightly pained look on her face, but it disappeared as she resumed what she had been saying.

"I managed to have an almost decent conversation with him! I caught him alone near the dungeons and managed to thank him for his warning the night of the World Cup. He looked incredibly surprised, but managed to spit out a 'you're welcome'—without a hint of sarcasm!—before some other Slytherins came upon us and he started insulting me. I made it look like I was very upset and fled the scene, but---oh _Harry!_ He can't be as bad as he seems. Only imagine…"

But Harry didn't get a chance to hear exactly what he should be imagining, for at that moment the rest of Gryffindor tower decided to come down for breakfast. Hermione cut off and they both hurried down to the great hall, neither daring to say anything more until they were sure of privacy.

While eating breakfast and speaking about lessons—swapping facts from books outside the curriculum, as well—Harry glanced every so often at the Slytherin table. At one point, when it seemed no one was looking, Draco seemed to nod towards him—slightly. Uplifted by these revelations—it was always good to find that someone wasn't a complete jerk, after all—Harry continued his breakfast with vigor. Nothing was going to ruin this day.

* * *

It was now the 21st of November, and if Harry had ever had an idea of a _great_ school year, it was now squashed. Not only had someone entered his name—and, as Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore suspected, it had been the very same 'loyal servant' inside Hogwarts—but the entire school had taken to shunning him. This wouldn't have particularly bothered him (he'd gotten used to it, in his three years at Hogwarts), but the entire thing was so greatly aggravating that he didn't have the strength to ignore it. The publicity, on top of being shunned….he hadn't _wanted_ the goddamn thing! Why was it that every time his life was in danger, people tended to think it was his vie for publicity?

At least Hermione had stuck by him. The two of them had taken to spending as much time in the library as possible. Consequentially, their marks—well, Harry's marks—had improved even more, and they were both now practicing more advanced spells than even the sixth years. If Voldemort had any chance whatsoever at returning, well, he and Hermione would be at least a little more prepared than the rest of them. Maybe.

Occlumency was going rather well, he thought. He had no example to judge by, but according to the book, he was at least doing the preliminary exercises right. Dumbledore had confirmed Harrys suspicion—that if he could resist the Imperius curse, he had some small grasp on his mental state, making Occlumency easier for him than it would be for, say, Ron. Who was still not talking to them.

Actually, now it had turned into open hostility, Harry reflected has he trudged to breakfast. Ron had began after Harrys name had come forth from the Goblet of Fire, and he hadn't stopped. Commenting on every small bit of popularity Harry was apparently 'enjoying', as well as how close he and 'Granger' seemed to be…it was a wonder that the fiery red-head wasn't insulting his parents. Or lack thereof. Maybe he still had some shred of decency…though is actions were enough to get Harry riled enough to hex a person.

Harry let out a disgruntled sigh as he sat down across from Hermione, and she shot him a sympathetic look over her latest book; _Magical Abnormalities and How they Originate: Advanced_. Hm. Maybe Harry would have to borrow it…Hermione suddenly handed him her book. He began to decline, but he noticed some urgency in her eyes and stopped. Taking the opened book, he looked around at the page she had been reading.

"Second paragraph," she clarified, and he started reading there.

_I'm meeting with Draco tonight. Can we talk afterwards? I'm sure the common room will be cleared by the time I get back, and I have some new thoughts to share. Just nod at the book and this will revert back to the actual text._

Harry nodded at the book, impressed with her inspiration. He smiled at her and she beamed back, obviously proud of herself. Well, at least he had Hermione, he thought as he finished spooning up his eggs.

* * *

"Hermione?" He whispered, entering the common room cautiously. There was a shuffling noise near the banked fire, and a fuzzy-haired head popped up over the back of a chair.

"Harry?" an unmistakable voice responded, just as quietly. He sighed and moved towards the vacant seat next to hers, thoroughly exhausted from the day.

"Hey. You don't happen to remember that silencing spell from—"He started, but she was already nodding.

"Already in place. Harry, we need to do something about Malfoy." Harry looked at her in confusion.

"I thought he was alright—" He cut himself off with a massive yawn.

"He is! But I've been talking to him. Harry, if Voldemort comes back, like we think, Dracos going to be dragged into it all. His father is a Death Eater to the core—I don't know _how_ Draco escaped coming out exactly like him. But the thing is, he'll want Draco to get the mark as well. And Draco won't leave his mother—he's trapped! The only way to protect his mother is to get the mark, unless Dumbledore—" Harry nodded his understanding.

"I think Dumbledore could help him. But you'll have to convince him to go to the Headmaster—Dracos got some fierce pride, if you haven't noticed. But I do think Dumbledore could help. Maybe we could talk to him first…" He drew off in thought before Hermione brought him back.

"Oh Harry, would you? Dumbledore knows you best, I think it really would be a good idea. I'll go too, of course, but if you're there with me, maybe it will add some weight…" Harry nodded.  
"Tomorrow, then. But Hermione, you'll never guess where I was." He decided not to comment on her growing attachment to Draco. If _she_ thought he was a good sort, who was he to gainsay her? She was generally a good judge of character. All Harry had to go on was one nod across the crowded great hall—but Hermiones opinion was enough for him. If it proved wrong, well…they'd deal with it then. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Children weren't clones of their parents, after-all…Steering away from that thought, he tuned back in to what Hermione was saying.

"…Didn't even _notice_, Harry where were , Harry where _you_?" He yawned again.

"Hagrid showed me what the first task is…"

* * *

"Well, well Harry! I must say it is very good to see you alive and well! And Miss Granger, of course, always a pleasure. To what do I owe this lovely visit?" The Headmaster said cheerfully as he sat down behind his desk. Hermione and Harry declined the offered lemon drops and got straight to it.  
"Well, sir, it's about Draco, Draco Malfoy. Hermione has been talking to him—I mean, we should probably start at the beginning?" Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded.

"Well, at the World Cup…"

* * *

"Hello, Hello Mr. Malfoy. Please sit down." The Headmaster looked unnaturally grave. The youngest Malfoy sat in the chair with a well-practiced air of indifference, hiding his trepidation. If that Granger girl—_Hermione_, his mind whispered—had gone to the Headmaster…

"Now my boy, if I remember correctly, your mother is a superb witch, is she not?" Draco was caught off-guard, if only for a second.

"Y-yes, she is indeed." He said haughtily.

"Good! Wonderful. Well, you see my boy, I have some need of some _particular_ spells that, if I remember correctly, Narcicssa is quite exceptional at. She _did_ invoke the protection spells around your own Manor, did she not?" Dumbledore looked at him curiously, and Draco felt a sense on untainted pride.

"She did indeed. Some of the finest protection spells anyone has ever seen, to be honest."

"Well then! I need someone with _just_ those skills to help me strengthen the protections around Hogwarts. Unfortunately it will take quite some time—nearly a year, perhaps two!—so I have called you here to relay my request to her. She will, of course, be offered the best rooms Hogwarts has to offer during her stay, and she is welcome to bring her family if it suites her." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again, Draco noticed absently.

Hermione _must_ have had something to do with this, but…_it was a very good out._ Hogwarts was the safest place besides perhaps Gringotts, and The Headmaster had given him an excuse for his pride, as well. And his mothers pride. It was nearly perfect.

A sense of strong gratitude overwhelmed his offended pride, and he stood.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I will relay your words to my dear mother." With a bow, the younger Malfoy left, and Dumbledore smiled pleasantly to himself.

Oh yes, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were surely great assets to his school.

* * *

A/N: I know it seems like everything is going very smoothly, but I promise you that I am just building up. The last battle itself(in the books) was wholly uncomplicated and, in the end, rather simple. So I am building up to an insane war. With much drama, sorrow, darkness, and insanity. Promise. Those of you who have read my earlier stuff—you know I have the darkness in my head to make these characters _scream_….erm. Anyway. What do you think so far? Much more detailed, eh? Can't wait till I post the end of the book—ya'll will be _so_ fricken shocked. Well maybe it won't be in the end. It might be in the middle. I haven't decided yet.

Anyway, please review. They keep me going. 3


	7. Chapter 6: Dangerous Conclusions

Chapter 6: Dangerous Conclusions

It was now December 27th. With all that had been going on, Harry and Hermione had barely had the time to keep up on their normal schoolwork, let alone do any investigating into Barty Crouch, or even any extra curricular reading, as they were now wont to do.

With the First Task now out of the way, Hagrid at least a little reassured and calmed after the dreadful Rita Skeeter article, and the abominable Yule Ball….

Harry and Hermione had gone together, since Harry didn't have a date and Hermione couldn't go with the boy she wanted to. She and Draco had been meeting more and more in secret, and that was one of the reasons she hadn't had the time to look up any extra projects. The ball had been a disaster, of course, full of snide comments and lewd gestures. Apparently there were very few people at Hogwarts (Neville and the Weasley twins being among them) who actually _liked_ Harry and Hermione. Their friends had tried to defend them as much as possible, but it hadn't been too effective against the whole of the school. But the two weren't incredibly worried about that—they had much too much to be going on with to worry about some petty animosity, though it did get incredibly annoying.

Sitting in the common room and waiting for Hermione was dull business, Harry decided. He had thought to catch her pretty soon, so hadn't brought a book, but now he was starting to wish he had brought _something_ to do. He watched the fire with a glazed expression, allowing his mind to wander.

Why _had_ he had such strange reactions to Snape last year? The subject he'd been avoiding now came up in a sleepy stupor, allowed into his mind from sheer exhaustion. It's not like the man was doing anything particularly abnormal, for him…

"Harry. Harry!" He woke up, startled out of his wits, to Hermione shaking him.

"What! No! I don't want to! _Gerrof_ me!!" He muttered, still confused and unsure of his surroundings.

"Harry! It's me! Shhh!" Finally recognizing Hermiones voice, he calmed down and sat up, apologizing.

"It's alright Harry. Were you waiting up for me?" She sat down in the chair across from him, looking just as tired as he felt.

"Uh…uh, yeah. I thought we should look into Crouch during break, and I wanted to pass it by you…And uh, ask you how your night was." He felt kind of silly now—the whole thing could have waited for the morning. It had just seemed so…pressing.

"Well I'm glad you waited up for me, Harry. My night was, uhm. Good, very good. And Draco did say something about Crouch, actually, when I asked him. I've been thinking about it too. Draco says that Crouches son was accused of being a Death Eater, Harry! But he went to Azkaban, his own father sentenced him. I'm not sure how that could relate to what happened at the World Cup…" She looked at him for ideas. Though his face was screwed up in contemplation, he finally shook his head.

"Sorry 'Mione. I guess I'm too tired. Lets talk tomorrow, okay? Maybe we'll be able to concentrate better." Hermione nodded, then hugged him when they stood.

"G'night, Harry." She said quietly.

"Night Hermione," He responded tiredly, already heading for the stairs.

* * *

"Sirius!" Harry shouted, running towards the entranceway. The tall, still-scraggly looking man smiled broadly as his godson ran towards him down the hall.

"Harry! Good to see you!! You know I woulda been here sooner, with your scar hurting and this tournament and all, but Dumbledore had me on _quite_ the mission with Remus, you know, secret things, and I only just now got done!" Harry shook his head, laughing, and embraced his godfather.

"You're here now, aren't you? C'mon, I bet you're starving, you don't look like you've been eating right…"  
"Oh I've been eating what I can, when I can. I really woulda liked you to come stay with me for at least part of the summer, Harry, but like I said, Dumbledore and his plans…" Sirius chuckled as they set off down the hall, swinging an arm around Harrys shoulders as they went.

"What's going on? It's like you're dying to tell me!"Harry accused, looking up at his godfather as they entered the great hall. He glanced at the head table, to Dumbledore, to see if this visit was okay. The Headmaster smiled indulgently and nodded to Sirius, who even gave a slight bow in return. Harrys eyes raked the head table for other reactions. Hagrid was beaming, McGonagall was looking disapprovingly at Sirius' thin frame, and Snape—Snape was _glaring_. Harry quickly looked away and tried to mentally shrug it off, but the image in his head bothered him—pissed him off, really! What right had _he?_—until Sirius' voice brought him back to reality.

"Ah, maybe Harry, maybe. But now's not the time for it, eh? I fancy myself some chicken, really…" Sirius' attention was taken quickly by the food, and Harry was all too content to let him have his fill. Eating when he could! He looked nearly anorexic!

Once their meal was done and Sirius had eaten a safe amount of food, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius retired to an empty classroom—courtesy of an indulgent and mildly curious McGonagall.

"So, Harry, What've I missed?" Harry looked at Hermione, who suddenly looked uneasy.

"Well, maybe first you should tell us what you've been up to, if you're so inclined. I'm pretty sure our story is a bit longer." Sirius regarded both Harry and Hermione quite seriously—almost more seriously than Harry had yet seen.

"I think you're ready for this, Harry. I want you to understand that I don't share this lightly. James, Remus, and I had already done a lot by fourth year, and by all repute so have you. That said, you're also the center upon which all these things turn. If Voldemort returns as Dumbledore expects, _you_ will be the center of hope for everyone. You will likely be needed to fight before you're ready, among other things. So I believe that it is within your best interests to keep you informed—at least on most things. Understand I may feel the need—or be magically compelled—to hold back from you. But I truly believe this is right. Do you understand?" Harry and Hermione nodded seriously, Harry feeling a rush of gratitude and Sirius' trust and respect.

"Good. Now, Dumbledore has had me an Remus going about, rallying support. You both know it's likely that Voldemort will return, and you both know it's possible that will be as soon as this year. Dumbledore does not want to be unprepared. I think he even fears a worse war than last time…" Sirius' eyes became haunted, and Harry and Hermione frowned worriedly at each other.  
"Well, no matter. The point is, we're rounding up the people and magical creatures who fought against Voldemort last time. Trying to put the word out, see. Prepare those people who can be of most help when the time comes. Getting whispers out, spreading the word, making people gossip and question. Gossip is a powerful tool in war, and if Voldemort plans on returning in secret, he will have a surprise waiting for him! Well then, there you go. Now tell me your end." Harry and Hermione started at the last bit, phrased more cheerfully than the entire conversation itself. They soon regained composure, however, and began to fill Sirius in, trusting him with as much information as he had them.

When they had finished, Sirius sat for a moment in ponderous thought. "Wow…the young Malfoy. Well, Dumbledore is probably very pleased…and Crouch? Huh. Yeah I saw his son going into Azkaban…buried him a few months later on the grounds…Well! I'll keep a lookout, you two!" Harry and Hermione thanked him profusely for his trust and support, which he shrugged off.

"I'm your godfather, aint I? And hell if you want to consort with Malfoy, he must be alright. You're pretty smart, both of you. And you know, I think I'll start giving you some lessons…yeah. I mean, I've been through the first war, eh? I could give you pointers, teach you to duel, stuff like that. What do you say?" Both fourth years agreed heartily, elated by the change for practicing the spells they had begun to read up on under a supervising wizard. The three set up a time for the next day, then spent several hours whiling away time with simple, idle chatter.

When at last it was time to leave, all parties went to bed with their hearts more at ease than the day had begun.

* * *

"Severus, my boy, do sit down. Tea?" Snape accepted a cup of tea as he sat, wary of the twinkling in Dumbledores eyes. These meeting were _never_ good, he reflected.

"What is it that I can do for you, Albus?" Snape asked politely, trying to hide the edge of irritation in his voice. Dumbledores eyes said he caught it, but the older man let it pass.

"Well I can see you'll want to get straight to business, then. I was curious to talk to you about the events going on here at our school—do you have any thoughts?"

"If you've called me here to discuss the Triwizard Tournament—" Snape started furiously, but Dumbledore stopped him with a raised hand.

"No, no, my dear boy. I would not bore you with talk of Harrys heroic feats—though they were indeed heroic. No, I mean to imply the growing darkness, if you will. I think you've warned me of the growing intensity of your Dark Mark, yes?" Snape sighed.

"Yes," He said wondering where this could be leading.

"Well Severus, it seems very obvious to me that Voldemorts power is growing. Our Harry Potter had a dream about him, actually, and the manner of things discussed in the dream were quite disturbing. I have decided to fill you in on the dream, so that you may put your brilliant mind to work in helping me figure this out. "

"And what makes you think I'd _care_ to help decipher some teenagers ludicrous dream?" Snape asked snarkily. Dumbledore merely smiled.

"I was forced to use Legillimency to come away with a clear version of the dream, Severus, but I can assure you it is quite real. It seems that the scar upon Mr. Potters forehead is not only decoration, but also a direct link. I have given the boy a rudimentary beginning in Occlumency, but I have a distinct feeling that _you_ will need to start teaching him, shortly. Perhaps as soon as next year."

"What!?" Snape stood, enraged. "I am _not_ teaching that blundering thick-headed fool the most ancient and difficult magic of our time! Not only will it take up _my_ time, but he will be complete shit at it!" Dumbledore was looking at Snape with concern.

"Another time, my boy. For now we are here to discuss the contents of Harrys dream. I am sorry for disturbing you so with news that might have waited." Snape sat down, slowly.

"So what was in this dream?" He groused out, still unwilling to believe that it had been anywhere near legitimate.

"Well, I suppose it started with an old muggle…"

* * *

It was the night before the second task, and three Hogwarts students had deemed it time to pay a visit to the Headmaster.

"Ah, my three dearest students! Please, come in, seat yourselves. What might I do for you?" The headmaster seated himself behind his desk while Harry, Hermione, and Draco arranged themselves in chairs along the opposite side.

"Well Headmaster, we were thinking…" Harry started, looking at the other two for a place to begin as he trailed off.

"A laudable thing, to be sure, my dear boy! What is it you have been thinking on?"

"Well, we've summed up out knowledge into a few simple marks. Er…One, Voldemort is attempting, again, to rise to power. He seems to think he needs me for this, or at least _wants_ me for this. Two, he has a faithful servant at Hogwarts. That could either be a Judge, one of the foreign students—which seems unlikely—or Snape, who you personally vouch for. Oh, and professor Moody." Harry took a moment to draw a breath, and Hermione continued for him. Dumbledores eyes were twinkling more than normal—which was quite a feat, all things considered.

"Harry's wand, after having erected the Dark Mark, was discovered at the World Cup with Winky the house-elf, belonging to one Mr. Crouch. Mr. Crouches son was sentenced to Azkaban by his own father and died shortly thereafter, coincidentally around the same time as Barty's wife. Harry's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. This means one of three things. One, the loyal servant of Voldemort's has concocted a plan to snatch Harry during the tournament in order to bring him to the Dark Lord, two, an errant Death Eater, also masquerading at Hogwarts, would like to see Harry killed. Or three, a fanatic Harry-supporter would like Harry to win the tournament." At that last Draco leaned over to smirk at Harry, who rolled his eyes. Knowing now that Draco was playing a part, Harry found most of his remarks more laughable than insulting.

"And lastly," Draco said as Hermione breathed heavily. In her excitement, she'd managed to string quite a few sentences together so fast that it was a wonder Dumbledore had understood at all. "My father, Professor Snape, and Headmaster Karkaroff have all noticed an increase in color in their Dark Marks. Also, Barty Crouch was snooping around in Snapes classroom. Harry was out after-hours, working on the egg, and he was suddenly caught between Professor Moody, Professor Snape, and Filch. Moody, of course could see him—the, the invisibility cloak and so on…" Draco trailed off, realizing his story was suddenly making little sense. Dumbledore twinkled some more.

"Continue, my boy. I was, after all, the one who gave Harry his invisibility cloak, after his father left it in my possession. How exactly did he uncover Mr. Crouch rooting around in Professor Snapes office?" Draco looked at Harry, and Harry continued the story.

"Well sir, right before I was caught in one of the stairs, I was looking at this map," He handed the Marauders map across the table to Dumbledore, who examined it carefully and returned his increasingly-concentrated gaze to Harry. "On the map, it showed 'Barty Crouch' in Snapes classroom. But then I got caught in the stair and my egg and map went flying. Professor Moody managed to pick it up, but Snape—sorry, Professor Snape recognized it from third year, when he caught me in the halls…Well, anyway, Snape knew I was there, and he assumed I had been the one in his classroom. Moody looked at the map, and after Snape and Filch had left—Moody could see me, of course, and he saved me from Snape—Moody asked if he could borrow the map after giving it back to me. I shut it off—see here? 'Mischief managed' and told him I'd rather keep it. He'd bounced around Draco as a ferret earlier in the year—and I know if I still hated him I'd have found it funny, but now it seems like some very improper conduct. Plus he could be this 'Inside Man' of Voldemorts, though I doubt it, and…"

"Very good Harry, very good. May _I_ keep this map for a little while? Perhaps I will see something you might miss." Harry paused a beat before answering.

"Sure. Yeah but—I can have it back, right?" Dumbledore was twinkling again.

"Of course my boy, of course. It will, in the end, likely be more useful to you than to me. But for now, I think…How do I make it appear? A phrase, perhaps?"

"Oh—er—yes, it's 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'" Harry flushed a bit at the wry smile on Dumbledores face.

"Ah, of course, the Weasly twins! And I've no doubt of the original makers, either…my dear Harry, you certainly manage to surround yourself with mischievous people! Ah, but how could you escape, hm? Well, I will certainly return this to you by the end of the year, perhaps sooner. Heirlooms should stay within the family, don't you think?" Harry was blushing furiously now.

"Yes sir," He mumbled. Hermione and Draco were laughing into their hands and pretending to scratch their faces. Prats.

"Well Harry, this has certainly been enlightening, but what is your main purpose in seeing me?" The three students turned serious in a blink.  
"I was thinking that, the more minds to the task, the better this whole thing might be averted. Almost like a puzzle. We might all have one piece, but without cooperation…"

"Ah, yes. Very good my boy. Did you think to include Professor Snape in this?" Dumbledore looked curiously at him, and Harry was quiet for a time.

"If Draco wants to talk to Snape—fine. But I won't be." Dumbledore looked at Draco, who shrugged, then back to Harry.

"Keep in mind, my dear boy, that you do not know everything there is to know." Dumbledore admonished gently.

"You trust him—fine. You can tell him. I trust you, so that's enough for now. But if he does something…I'll come to you first, for the truth or for support. But I _will_ retaliate." Dumbledore looked slightly saddened.

"Very well, my boy. So! You wish to hear my thoughts?" The three nodded eagerly.

"Well. I am privy to certain information that you would not have known, so I can fill you in on some small matters. Firstly, the item stolen from Professor Snapes classroom was one thing only; boomslang skin." Hermione turned to Harry, eyes wide. Draco looked clueless.

"Polyjuice." Harry muttered, shaking his head to clear it. Barty Crouch—stealing ingredients for the Polyjuice potion?

"Quite right my boy, quite right. The three of you have made a remarkable effort towards the truth, and are quite far along, even when compared to myself. I laud your intelligence." The three students straightened in their chairs, looking for all the world like proud children complimented by a favourite uncle. "That said, I suggest you focus on the next task. If Harry meets an unfortunate end tomorrow, all of this thinking will be for naught. In the meantime I will consult Professor Snape, as well as several other trusted Professors. I want you three to concentrate on Harry getting through the next two tasks. However, I would like you to keep in mind that whoever placed Harry's name in the goblet of fire might not be counting on him to die—but for him to win. That said, off to bed with you three!"

The three students laughed, more lighthearted then they had been in months, and left the Headmasters office, feeling as though a great burden had been lifted. They had told Dumbledore their thoughts, and if the most intelligent and powerful wizard of the age couldn't figure things out and stop catastrophe, who could? They would all, of course, be keeping their eyes and ears out, their thoughts churning. But these things were for the back-burner now. Exams, the Tournament, and classes were quite enough to be going on with, they reckoned.

* * *

"Severus, please, take a seat," the Headmaster seemed unusually grave, and Snape took his seat with considerable apprehension.

"And what may I attribute this particular visit to, Headmaster?"

"Ah, straight to the point, as always Severus. You are aware, of course, of Voldemort's growing strength?" Snape sneered.

"Strikingly, yes."

"Of course, of course. And of course you're aware of his apparent intended use of Mr. Potter to regain his full abilities and person?" Snape merely nodded. "Well then. And you know, of course, of his supposed supporter inside the school. Well, I have recently acquired Mr. Potters map of the school—you have seen this, yes? He said you recognized it recently, and you also saw it in his third year." Snape's eyes widened slightly.

"So he _was_ there that night! Potter, first second year and now this, stealing boomslang skin for—"

"Now, now, Severus, let us not jump to conclusions. Harry was adamant that it was one Barty Crouch who was in your classroom this year, my dear boy. Though he did not deny being out of bed after-hours."

"Albus, why in bloody hell would _Crouch_ be—" He was cut off as the headmaster raised his hand.

"Please, Severus, let me finish. After careful observation of this map of Harrys—quite remarkable, really—I have come to the conclusion that Barty Crouch is masquerading as Professor Moody ." Snape was silent for a moment, thinking.

"I take it you suspect this to be Barty Crouch the younger? How could this be?" Albus smiled, pleased with Snapes deduction.

"After careful questioning of a certain house-elf that has recently come into my employ, I have gathered that Crouch the younger was exchanged for his dying mother, as a last wish of hers. He also managed to escape the Imperious curse his father held him under for a short time during the World Cup, which is coincidentally how Winky the house-elf came into my services. Crouch the younger stole young Harrys wand and conjured the Dark Mark, and he is even now at this school, masquerading as a teacher." If Snape could look shocked, he was right now. It was only a telling of slightly widened eyes and a remarkably sneer-less face that tipped it off, and if Albus had not been looking for it, it would not have been seen.

"You know the Dark Lord will come back, with or without Potter." Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement, still waiting.

"You assume the blood running through Potters veins might enhance his power." Again, Albus nodded.

"You also assume the Dark Lord has yet again to underestimate the power of _love_." This time, he was sneering quite venomously. The Headmaster simply nodded.

"You want to let him get Potter on our own terms." Snape finally said, quietly.

"Only with your consent, Severus. You know I would not ask it if I did not think it necessary, and pertinent to your survival." Dumbledore suddenly looked very old. Snape just stared at him, emotionless.

"What do I need to do?"

* * *

Harry was at the final task. As he walked through the maze, he kept half of his wits on his surroundings, and half of them elsewhere.

_However, I would like you to keep in mind that whoever placed Harry's name in the goblet of fire might not be counting on him to die—but for him to win._

Win. Why would they want him to win? _Think_. How could they use him to bring back Voldemort? First, they'd need to take him somewhere else, they wouldn't likely be able to do something like that on Hogwarts grounds, under the eyes of Dumbledore, the only man he ever feared. _Think_. How could they transport him away? Apparation was not possible inside the grounds. Floo didn't make sense—how would winning enable them to floo him out? _Think_. A Death Eater in Hogwarts. Transport.

_Portkey._ The Triwizard cup! It was only dependent on Harry winning. _Think_. Who had time alone with the cup? Had he seen anything…?

He came upon a great sphinx, and his thoughts stopped as he regarded this new challenge.

"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is to pass me."

"Er…please move?" Harry tried, giving the sphinx a hooked smile.

"No." She said, continuing to pace. "Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess—I let you pass. Answer wrongly—I attack. Remain silent—I will let you walk away from me unscathed."

"What is the riddle?"

"What has two legs in the morning, four at noon, and three in the evening?"

Harry looked up at her, concentrating. He thought for several more minutes, then spoke.

"It is not that I cannot answer your riddle, but that I _will_ not. I have heard by all repute that a sphinx will commit suicide if the answer is correctly given, and I would not like to drive such a lovely creature as yourself to such a gruesome end. I am sorry, sphinx. I cannot answer." The sphinx looked at him strangely for a minute, gauging his honesty. Then she smiled.

"Go on then, mortal. You're heart has been well-judged, and found worthy." She moved aside, and Harry, startled, hurried past her, bowing as he came abreast of her and thanking her profusely.

"Get on with you," She said, slightly flustered and definitely sounding well-pleased. Harry smiled to himself, then continued to think. His thoughts became more and more focused on the puzzle, and he barely missed several other nasty encounters as he found his way to the middle.

Finally, he was there. He still hadn't figured out the _who_, but at the moment, only the _what_ was important. He spotted Cedric.

"Cedric! Don't touch the cup! It's a Portkey!" but Cedric ignored him, assuming it was a divisionary tactic. Well, he'd just have to stop the idiot himself.

Harry tackled the other boy and they both fell to the ground, wrestling around and generally making a mess of themselves. Suddenly there was a pressure on the back of Harrys robes and he was yanked upright, away from Cedric. He only glimpsed a masked face before there was a familiar tug behind his naval, and suddenly he was stumbling around in the dark, wand useless in his pocket.

"Why…Severus. I certainly was not expecting _you._" A silky voice came from the shadows, and Harry spun around, trying to understand this new reality. Someone behind him took his arms in a vice-like grip, and struggling did nothing. He stopped, breathed, and thought.  
"Your plan did not go through like you'd hoped. Potter here figured out that it was a Portkey, and Crouches cover would had been blown if he'd stepped in. Luckily I still had my robes…and mask. I managed to grab Potter and the Portkey before anyone knew what was going on." The man holding his arms was _Snape_. Snape had—_stepped in. _He'd taken Harry to Voldemort, he'd betrayed Dumbledore, he'd—

"Well, Severus. Please, come over here and we can tie young Harry to this stone…Now, tell me, how did you uncover my little rat inside of Hogwarts? Did he…_confide_ in you? Remember, I will know if you lie." The voice was dangerous—deadly. Harry could now see that they were in a graveyard. Voldemort was in the arms of Wormtail—no surprise there—but otherwise it was just the four of them, with some large cauldron bubbling in front of a marker inscribed with the name 'Tom Riddle'.

This was powerful magic. Harry hadn't gone into detail in this area, but he could put some things together. Voldemort's father, Harry, a weak version of Voldemort, all together in the same area…this could not end well. And Snape had _brought_ him here! The rage boiling inside of him was unparalleled, but he attempted to quell it so that he could pay attention to the conversation. If he could get out of this…

"I confiscated a rather intricate map of Hogwarts from one of the Weasleys. The map indicates people inside of Hogwarts, and it showed 'Barty Crouch' standing right next to 'Barty Crouch', when in reality Professor Moody was standing next to Crouch senior. I confronted 'Mad-eye' later on in private, and coerced him to tell me all he knew. I wanted to help, if I could. I have gained the Headmasters full and complete trust, and think I could be a valuable asset yet again…However I knew you would suspect my loyalties, and rightly so. Thus have I brought you Harry Potter, to assure you of my commitment." The speech ended, and Snapes face was impassive as ever.

"But Severus," Voldemort hissed, "When I disappeared, why did you not search me out? Why did you stay inside that castle, with that mad, cooky old man, and plead innocent? My _loyal_ Death Eaters have rotted away in Azkaban while you enjoy the comforts of freedom…" Snape shook his head slightly.

"I am sorry, great Lord. In all honesty, I initially thought your disappearance was a clever ruse. A boy, defeating the Dark Lord? I suspected bigger plots at hand, something only you and perhaps a few others had known. So instead of searching, I dutifully waited for your return. When it was apparent you were not coming back, at least not for quite some time, I stayed where I was. What use would I serve you in Azkaban? At Hogwarts, I had ample time to gather more information and integrate myself more deeply with my colleagues and Headmaster. When you arrived with Quirrel, I had no suspicion of your existence. I merely thought the stupid goat was attempting to get the stone himself, and stopped him from it to make myself look even better in the eyes of those watching me. Once I realized it had been you—I feared your wrath." Voldemort laughed softly.

"Ah, yes…Severus, I see you do not lie. So, you have brought the boy to me while Crouch has failed—though not because he slacked in his duties…no, it was Potters _intelligence_, my but aren't you _very_ clever?" This last was directed at Harry, who, tied to a headstone, could only spit at the Dark Lord—which he did.

"My, my, _nasty_ manners, wouldn't you say? Severus, my loyal servant, you alone shall have the honor his punishment….after the rites are completed, of course." Harry didn't watch. When he felt a prick on the inside of his elbow, he twitched but didn't open his eyes. He was thinking desperately of an out, nearly droning out the voice of Wormtail with his frantic thoughts.

"_Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given…"_

His wand was in his pocket—if only he could reach it! But it was no use. No one could know where they were, and no one could help him now—not even himself.

"Severus, if you please…" That cold voice woke him from his frantic thoughts. It was stronger, more confident…_alive_. He opened his eyes to see Voldemort, fully alive once again. He shuddered and watched as Snape glided towards him.  
"Master, are you certain you would not prefer…?"

"No, Severus. This I give to you. But do not maim him—he will duel me before I choose to kill him. And his death, yes, that is all _mine_." Harry twitched violently as Snapes hand came down upon his throat, and he thrashed, attempting to dislodge the incredibly strong grip.

"As it pleases you, Master…" the grip tightened and Harry began to choke. "…so do I obey."

* * *

A/N: I want reviews!!! Review and I will post the next one!!! I want em!!! --squalls like a gassy child --…..okay, that wasn't very flattering. But hey no really—review? Please?


	8. Chapter 7:of Dumbledore and Memories

Chapter 7: Of Dursleys, Memories, and Dumbledore

"Harry…Harry…" He could here a familiar voice through the fog, but that was all that registered. There was a play…no, a film, flashing through his brain in unconnected slides. Snape…hurt him. Then he had been given his wand…stumbling…graveyard…golden light…Death Eaters…

"Harry!" The strong, firm voice of the Headmaster called him to.

"Whasis…?" He mumbled, trying to sit up. A firm hand restrained him.

"Harry, you are in the hospital wing. You are safe now, but you have sustained some rather critical injuries and I thought it best to see to you myself." Dumbledore came into a bleary focus as he found his glasses and shoved them onto his head.

"Snape! Professor, Snape grabbed me—he's a Death Eater! He hurt me…" Dumbledore wore a worried frown.

"Please, Harry, I will need you to start from the beginning. After that you may see your friends, but I think it would be best if you took a dreamless sleep potion shortly thereafter." Harry nodded, gulped down the water he had been offered, and begun his story.

When he had finished, Dumbledore indeed looked troubled. He placed a hand on Harrys head and hummed softly to himself, in a tune that sounded eerily like that of the Phoenix. Harry felt his lids getting heavy, then lighten. Suddenly his ordeal seemed a lot less…personal, somehow. Crouch had grabbed him…the Portkey…the Death Eaters…all had gone according to their plan, in the end…

"Sir?" Harry asked sleepily. "What about Crouch? The—er, younger?"

"Ah, my dear boy. He has been taken into custody and given a truth potion. His testimony is being heard by the Minister himself. Luckily this time, we may have a head-start on Voldemort. All thanks to you, my boy…"And with that, Harry Potter was asleep.

Dumbledore sighed and stood, looking down upon the sleeping child. He was so young…

With a hearty shake, he roused himself and walked outside of the hospital wing, where Severus was awaiting him.

"He will be alright, Severus." He said, taking the other mans hand in his. Snape drew back quickly, as though he'd been burned.

"I never doubted that, Albus. Did you perform the memory charm?"

"Why, Severus! It is almost as though you _cared_ whether Harry knows what you've done to him!" Albus was twinkling slightly again. Damn that man.

"Of course I _care_, headmaster," He sneered, "if he _did_ remember he would no doubt cause untold mayhem with our plans. _Your _plans."

"Ah, of course Severus. Always logical and astute. Well, I did indeed perform the charm. You need not worry that Mr. Potter will remember your involvement…and ruin our plans." Snape glared, to little affect.

"I think I'll leave before—"

"Dumbledore! Is this true? Let me in there, I'd like to see Mr. Potter myself!" Fudge had just come hurtling up, followed by a disheveled group of Harrys friends.

"Come here, Mrs. Weasley, if you please," Dumbledore said mildly, ignoring the Minister as he ushered Harrys friends into the hospital wing. He was not quick enough to close the door, however, and Fudge followed the group inside.

"Potter! Tell me, did you or did you not see he-who-must-not-be-named return?" Fudge demanded, looming over the bed of the boy who had just recently re-awoken.

"I…yeah, that's what happened." Harry responded weakly. Fudge turned towards Dumbledore once more.

"Are you _really_ going to believe the story of, well, _this_ boy?" Fudge asked in a lowered voice. Dumbledores eyes were gleaming.

"And what do you mean, Cornelius, by _this_ boy?"

"Come now! His stories get taller every year, and you just lap them up!" Fudge was beginning to get irritated.

"The testimony of Bartimus Crouch—"

"Tells me nothing! He's a lunatic! And this _boy,_ professor, has got you all under his thumb! Portkeys, magical rites—it's ludicrous!" Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left shirtsleeve of his robe as he went.

"There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It's not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had this sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Dark Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, to his side. This mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lords vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold." Fudge stepped back from Snape, looking disgusted.

Harry was disgusted as well, but not with Snape. Here sat the _Minister of Magic_, and he _denied_ Voldemort's return because of something Rita Skeeter had written in Witch Weekly? And Snape—it was admirable of him, really, the way he was acting. Respectable. It didn't mean Harry liked him any better, but still…

And then he was asleep, and knew no more.

* * *

"I am afraid, Harry, that there are some things we must discuss before the summer holidays. Now, I know you have been through quite an ordeal, and would like nothing better then to forget it all and be gone. However, if you will bear with me, there are only a few more things we need discuss, things I did not want to burden you with while you were in the hospital wing."

Albus was watching Harry carefully as he took his seat. While the boy no longer remembered the worst of what had happened to him in that graveyard, he may still be traumatized by what he _did_ remember. Albus hadn't been able to block out much of it—if Harry noticed holes in his memories, he would begin to question. The headmaster had blocked the worst from Harrys knowledge—the very worst—but he was nonetheless worried and saddened. Saddened for what Severus had been forced to do, worried for both of them. Harry would be fine, for now, because he didn't remember most of it. But Severus…he would need to keep a close watch on both of them. Rage temporarily flared—rage at Tom Riddle, at what he had unleashed upon this world, the darkness he so coveted.

Harry nodded as he took his seat opposite of the headmaster, thankful, really, that he hadn't been too bothered in the hospital wing. The injuries that Crouch had inflicted upon him had made him—for once—happy to be left alone while he recuperated.

"Now, Harry, I have called you here today to discuss your living situation, as it stands." Harry stiffened. Surely Dumbledore didn't know the extent of which the Dursleys abused him. He would have gotten him out of there long ago. But what if—

"As you might have guessed, your recent adventure in the graveyard of Tom Riddle Senior will have a devastating affect on the protection placed upon the Dursleys home." Harry relaxed slightly, and shook his head.

"I'm not sure I understand, headmaster."

"Well Harry, unfortunately it's quite simple. When the Dark Lord took your blood into himself, it allowed him a certain amount of…clemency. The Dark Lord, fearful as it is, has shattered the protection of your mothers blood by taking that same blood into himself. The protective qualities rejected a soul as vile as his, and in doing so shattered the remaining protection around you, and the Dursleys. " Harry took a moment to digest this.

"So where do you think I should stay, this summer?" Harry asked respectfully.

"Well Harry, there's only two real options that come to mind. The first is to send you back to the Dursleys, anyway. It's quite likely that Voldemort will have no knowledge of what his…resurrection spell has accomplished, and would easily forgo attacking you at your home due to an uneducated assumption that he _cannot_ attack you there."

"Wouldn't that be rather risky, sir?"

"I'm glad you see it that way, Harry. It would indeed be too risky, even for a young man as accomplished as yourself. Since we concur on that point, the only other option I see is for you to remain at Hogwarts for the duration of the summer." Harry smiled at his headmaster.

"That sounds like an excellent plan, sir. Is it…a good assumption to believe that I will be a, ah, ward of Hogwarts until I graduate, or Voldemort is defeated?"

"I can see no other way, my boy. Hopefully you will find yourself well entertained and not lacking for things to do." The headmaster seemed worried that Harry would find his summer at Hogwarts less than suitable.

"Oh, I'm sure I will headmaster. In fact, I would much prefer to be here than with the Dursleys. There is much more for me to do here than there."

"I am glad you are taking this transition so astonishingly well, Harry. However I must ask—what about your family? Your muggle friends? Won't you be missing them, or they you?" Dumbledore knew very well from his observations that Harry did not _have_ any friends at number 4, Privet drive. However he was curious to see how strongly the boy wished to cover this up. Harry gave the headmaster a hooked smile.

"They'll miss me as much as I miss them, sir. But this is all for the best." My my, Albus thought. The boy really _did_ have a great potential for Slytherin. The hooked smile; an indication that Harry knew—or suspected—that Dumbledore had asked a question he already knew the answer to, and Harry's answer; sufficiently vague enough to either assure Dumbledore he would be loved and missed, or to confirm that there was no love lost between himself and that neighborhood. Very Slytherin indeed.

"You're right, my boy, and I'm glad to see your reasoning outweighs whatever passion you might feel . Now, the student dorms are closed over the holidays for matters such as refurbishment and cleaning. However I have set you up in a room off of the main hall, and I suspect you will find it quite to your liking. Your things have already been moved there in anticipation that you would find the situation agreeable, and here is your key. The only other copy is within my possession, of course." Harry nodded, smiling, and reached across the desk to accept the key that the headmaster held out to him.

"Sir, I do have a few questions," he said as he slipped the key into his pocket.

"Naturally, my boy. Please, feel free," Albus waved a hand, indicating an almost indolent dismissal of time and duties, indicating that, if Harry wished, they could easily spend the next week in idle chatter and lemon drops. Harry almost chuckled. That man has got some _style,_ he thought to himself.

"Well, who all will be staying here, over the summer? Where will we eat? What am I not allowed to do, not allowed to go? What are the ground rules?" Dumbledore smiled and twinkled.

"Most of the staff stays on over the summer holidays, merely because Hogwarts makes an excellent home for those dedicated to research, study, and teaching. All students are required to leave, except in your case, of course." Albus nodded to Harry in recognition.

"Of course."

"However, for your first summer stay, I have invited Hermione Granger to spend her holiday here, as well, so that you may have company your own age. On top of that, I must say I have been quite the rule breaker this year, because I have also invited young Draco and his mother to an _extended_ stay, which is open to them both until they feel it necessary for them to leave." Harry nodded, unsurprised at the last, and feeling a wave of excitement and happiness that Hermione might stay, as well.

"Thank you, sir, for inviting Hermione."

"You're very welcome my dear boy. As for ground rules and mealtimes; the staff takes their meals in the great hall, as normal, and any students staying are welcome to meals there, as well. However you may also call upon Dobby or Winky, or any other house elf, to serve you in your room if you prefer, and several members of the staff, including Professor Snape, prefer that option."

"Of course,"

"Manners, Harry. As for ground rules, please do not enter a Professors office, classroom, or living quarters without express permission. The Forbidden Forest is, of course, still forbidden, and all other rules during school term still apply. If you'd like to go to Hogsmead, or anywhere else off of Hogwarts grounds, please come see me and we will discuss an arrangement at that time. Clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." Harry was grinning.

"Very good. Now off you go! I'm sure you'll like to explore your new room before dinner. The rest of the students leave tomorrow, so I'm equally sure you have some goodbyes to put in order. Have a good night, Harry."

"You too, sir." And with that, he was gone.

* * *

"Ah, Severus. Please, sit down. Tea?"

"No, thank you." Snape wasn't sure why the headmaster had requested his presence, but from his experience, it would be to no good end.

"I suppose I'll get straight to it, again." Albus looked very nonplussed at his being denied the lovely rounds of tea and cakes, nonsensical chatter and fussing. Good, Snape thought grumpily. Serves him right.

"Mister Potter will be staying at Hogwarts throughout the summer, and most likely for good, until Voldemort is defeated."

"What? Why? Albus, there is _no need_ for him to be here. He is sufficiently well protected at…The spell broke the protective charm."

"Quite right my boy, very perceptive of you—I expected no less. Unfortunately the recent speed of events forces us now to contemplate a new battery of lessons for our Mister Potter."Snape wanted to punch the man for using the words 'us' and 'our' in a sentence with Potter's name. Whatever Potter was, it was incorrect to use possessive words including Snape in Potters pronoun. Snape most certainly had nothing to do with _ownership_ of Potter.

Hell. That was obviously not the correct way to think of _that_. Owenership. Potter. Snape nearly growled.

"What is it you think he needs to learn, Headmaster?" Albus, having watched the particular range between rage, disgust, and sudden control evident on his most trusted Professors face, gave the man a curious glance.

"I'm glad you're being so…cordial about this, Severus. The boy will, of course, need lessons in Occlumency, even Legilimency. You are the master of such arts, and as such you will of course be asked to instruct him." Snape wanted to argue—furiously—but he knew it was as inevitable as the tide. When Albus wants something done…Not to mention, it was the _reasonable_ thing to do. And he had a perverse wish to see what Potter was _really_ made of. Or maybe he just wanted to see Potter fail, again. Yes, that last bit was it.

"Okay."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, okay."

"I'm surprised at you, Severus, I thought it would be _much_ harder to convince you of the necessary course of action. Perhaps you've found you don't have such a strong hatred of young mister Potter as you originally thought—?"

"I _said_ okay. I know you'll force me to it anyway, so that's it. Okay." Snape was now grinding his teeth. This _man_ was _insufferable_. Worse than Granger, Weasley, and Potter put together.

"He will need lessons in many more things, Severus." Albus said quietly after a long pause.

"I'm sure whatever you deem necessary will suffice, Headmaster."Albus ignored this.

"Things only you can teach him." Snape felt a dark curling in his gut.

"Albus—"

"He needs to _know_, Severus. Whatever we may think we are doing, we face a power nearly insurmountable. Dark, dark things, Severus…And currently, Mister Potter is not one-tenth prepared for what he might need to face. I wish we had more time, but events move against us as the power eddies back and forth. We need to prepare—and all preparation starts with him."

Snape had never seen Albus so serious. Reguardless, he did _not_ want to take on that responsibility. _Anyone else_ could—

No. the headmaster was right. Snape was the only one for the job. Bitter and enraged, the man stood up, nodded once to the headmaster, and left the office.

Albus sighed when he had gone. Now things could begin.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update—I've been really busy with college prep, getting a job, family and all that stuff. I'll try and post the next chapter within a week from today. PLEASE review. If you don't review, I wont feel the need to update as I should :P


	9. Chapter 8: Summer Lessons

Chapter 8: Summer Lessons

"Hermione!" Harry called across the room, waving towards the girl as he began to jog towards her table, where she was sitting with the twins and Neville.

"Harry! I'm staying! I wrote to my parents and they were so _thrilled _with my 'extra courses'." She giggled at the deception, and Harry realized as he sat down that there was very little remaining of the quiet, rule-abiding girl he had met in first year. The changes were good ones—Hermione was more confident, more aware of the things she did not know, and more prone to certain Slytherin qualities that Harry had no doubt could be attributed to Draco's influence.

"That's wonderful Hermione! It looks like you've got a room right down the hall from mine, as well." What he didn't say was that their rooms were also near Draco's. She heard it in his voice, and smiled.

"I know, I'm very excited. And you know, what I told my parents isn't _all_ a lie. We _will_ be doing extra studies, of course."

"Of course," He grinned knowingly, and she blushed, then sniffed.  
"Anyway, my parents have invited you to come with us, when we do our occasional outings."

"That's great! Like what?" Harry's good mood was rapidly infectious. Soon the others were tuning in, as well.

"Well, you know. Opera, Musicals, Plays, Symphony…" She seemed a bit nervous that the very muggle activities would discourage him.

"Oh! Wow, Hermione I would love to! The Dursleys went out a lot, but I was never able to go…" Hermione brightened at the prospect of giving Harry some simple, mundane pleasures.

"What's the big deal about that stuff, anyway?" Fred asked. George, stuffing a large amount of potatoes in his mouth, nodded agreement with his brother.

"Well…its…art. It's a deep expression of the passions of life, through music and acting." George nodded sagely, punching his brother in the arm after swallowing a mound of food.

"Yeah Fred, it's _art_. Honestly, sometimes you are just not _sophisticated_ enough to be my twin."

"Right. I forgot how much you _adored_ going to the Opera with mum. She thought you were going to be the next Farinelli, with the way you carried on in the shower." George shoved Fred, who shoved George back, and a slight scuffle ensued. When they had parted, Hermione was still giving Harry a list of the shows on tour for the summer, and what to expect from each different type.

"…And musicals are _really_ my favorite because they are able to convey a lot more emotion through song, and you still have a really good visual as well." Harry was nodding enthusiastically.

"I kinda always wondered if witches and wizards indulged in muggle entertainment. Because we have stuff like Quidditch, our own bands and music groups, but the muggle community really has the biggest monopoly on theater, you know?" Hermione was nodding knowingly.

"I've always been fascinated by the differences between muggle and wizarding culture, and how they interconnect—"

"Hang on, Harry was wondering his way to a question there Hermione." Fred interjected.

"Yeah, and seeing as we're _pureblood_ wizard children, we'd be the experts on that question, right Fred?"

"Right George."

Harry snorted."You mean, pureblooded blood traitors." He said, grinning.

"Right yeah. And to answer your question, wizards without the style that Fred and myself have cultivated—"

"—the real bores—"

"They tend to _love_ muggle theater."

"Well Harry, I suppose I'm a bore!" Hermione said, laughing.

"Bloody right you are." Fred said, nodding knowingly. Hermione sighed dramatically.

"I suppose it's inevitable. I think I'll get back to some boorish activities, you know, reading and whatnot." She stood from the table and said goodbye to everyone.

"Have a boorish night!" George called after her. She waved without turning around and was soon out of the hall. Harry noticed that Draco was no longer in the hall, either, which was odd for him. He smirked. Looked like Hermione wasn't doing anything close to boorish, tonight.

* * *

"Sirius! Lupin!" Harry beamed at the two men as he entered the great hall and saw them seated at the only table. Dumbledore, Mirvana, and several other staff members were seated at the far left end, but there was a great amount of space between them and the two men at the right end. Harry and Hermione immediately took up seats next to the grinning older men, and Draco sat cautiously next to Hermione. The three had decided that it would soon be obvious Draco and his mother had switched sides, and while they still kept up pretence around other students, the summer holidays seemed safe enough.

"Harry! Hermione, it is good to see you both!" Sirius stood up and hugged Harry, shaking Hermione and Dracos hands enthusiastically. Draco looked startled, and Lupin gave Sirius an indulgent smile before turning a more sympathetic one to the younger Malfoy.

"I'm afraid he's still a bit…enthusiastic about being able to consort with anyone he chooses, free of fear. As for you, Draco, Sirius and I both trust Harry and Hermiones judgment resolutely. If they consider you a friend, then you will always be welcome among us, as well." A faint glow of pleasure tinted Draco's cheeks as he re-seated himself, and Harry gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze before he too, took his seat.

"So are you two here all summer?" He asked, not quite being able to believe his luck.

"More or less, Harry. We'll still have errands to run and jobs to do, but Hogwarts is the natural headquarters for the resistance—again named the Order of the Pheonix."  
"Brilliant. Are Hermione and me allowed to join?" Sirius sighed.

"Not yet Harry. I hear Dumbledore has some plans for you this summer—some lessons you, and your friends, need to learn first. But most likely next year you'll be included, and I'll keep you updated on the events and intel that I feel I can share." Lupin leaned across a heaping plate of veal.

"Me too, Harry. We wont want to keep you in the dark, but if we think it prudent, we may have to. You're welcome to ask us questions, or come to us for help at any time." Harry smiled as Lupin also extended the offer to his friends.  
"Sure, that all makes sense, I guess. So isn't Hogwarts a bit too small to house _all_ of the Order?"

"Small! Harry, this place is _huge!_ But you have a point—a lot of the Order members have families, lives, and homes of their own. We have an outpost—my old family home, actually—and that's basically where all the meetings are held, it's easier that way." Sirius explained.

"Your family? I got the feeling you didn't really like them…"

"I don't, Harry. But they were a group of paranoid mother—"

"I think what Sirius is trying to say is that his family had a large repertoire of spells encasing their home. It's unplotable and has numerous defensive and alarm spells, which makes it the perfect place for an outpost. The Weasleys are currently living there, and helping to make the house habitable."

"Habitable?" Draco asked, curious.

"It hasn't been cleaned in _ages_. The lazy house elf, Kreacher, has been sniffing my mums dresses more often than he lifts a finger to clean. There's spiders, maybe a boggart, a ghoul, and a bunch of nasty surprises. I'll be helping them out now and then, but really my main mission is to advocate for better security at Azkaban and…some other things." Sirius got suddenly mysterious and closed his mouth. Lupin shook his head at Harrys curious glance and took a bite of the asparagus.

"Oh! Yes of course! If _you_ were able to escape, Sirius, then the real Death Eaters in there wont have much of a problem!" Hermione looked avid and focused, vitally interested in the tactical strategies of the war.

"It's more than that, Hermione." Harry said, and all four of his friends turned to him in surprise. "I mean, Voldemorts out there, right now. I bet the Dementors would prefer to be on his side, rather than ours." Hermione looked startled, then furiously contemplative as she worked out the ramifications of such a thing.

"Very right Harry," Lupin nodded approvingly, "and that means that many of _our_ jobs are to enlist as many magical creatures as we can. Bill Weasley is helping with the Goblins. I am, of course, integrating myself with the Werewolves. Hagrid—"

"Giants," Draco put in, with a look almost matching Hermiones as he began to contemplate the vast amount of energy, contemplation, research and luck that this war was going to take.

"Yep. Very good. We're trying to spread the word about Voldemort being back, but as you can imagine that's proving difficult due to the Minister…" Lupin watched as Sirius spit on the floor to show his contempt for the man. "Always satisfying, but not very helpful, Sirius," He said dryly. Sirius gave him a hang-dog smirk.

"As long as _I_ feel better, I don't much care!" Harry rolled his eyes at the two.

"You know, maybe we should just _take over_ the ministry. Quietly, if we can. But you can be sure that Voldemort will try—and probably succeed—to do just that, once he has more power." Sirius tapped the side of his nose with his finger in Harry's direction.

"Right on point, Harry. The problem is, we don't have enough insiders at the ministry yet to perform a successful coupe. But we're working on it." Harry smiled.

"Good. I'll leave the thinking to the very capable adults, then." Sirius winked and Harry very nearly stuck out his tongue.

"Which reminds me, Harry. I want you to have this, keep it, and make sure you have it on you at all times. Just say my name into it and I'll appear, and we can talk to one another. Okay?" Harry looked at the square little mirror wonderingly, and grinned up at his godfather.

"Thanks, Sirius, I will."

The meal concluded soon after that, and the staff and three students dispersed. Sirius, Lupin, and the three students retired to a private study where they could speak alone, and at leisure. Tomorrow began the real work, when the adults would go off and the students would begin their extra lessons.

* * *

Harry practically tripped himself in front of the door, took a moment to calm himself before he rapped a measured knock against the door. A voice called out for him to enter, and he did so with no small amount of trepidation. He trusted the headmaster, and Dumbledore had told him he would _need_ these lessons with Snape, but he didn't have to like it, and knowing those things did not make this any easier.

He entered the room to find an almost cozy living room, with two couches, an armchair, a full bar in the corner, a hearth and warm rugs. The color schemes were browns, blacks, and greens, but it looked more natural than dark. Snape sat at a desk in a corner diagonal to the bar, and looked to be finishing a paper of some sort.

"Hello sir." Harry said, as respectfully as possible. If he had to do this, he might as well try to make it easier.

"Good evening, Mister Potter. I'm sure you understand at least the partial nature of these lessons." Even when his words were cordial—for him, at least—Snape still managed to make them sound threatening and sardonic. Harry took a deep internal breath, and attempted to match his professors vocabulary, just to show the man he could.

"I was given to understand that the lessons, in part, would focus on a more hand-on approach to Occlumency and Legilimency. As for the rest, the Headmaster was rather vague and said only that you would teach me what you deemed prudent."

"Been reading the dictionary, Potter? My, you must be bored now that your girlfriends have left for the summer." Harry blushed a furious red at that—not once but twice had his Professor come across him as he was accosted by several different girls all at once. Harry pushed the embarrassment and anger aside as best he could, and attempted a sarcastic response.

"The dictionary is only one of my many interests, sir. I'm sure you'll be thankful for its vigorous vocabulary by the end of the day." Snape raised his brows.

"Is that intended to be sarcasm, Potter? Pathetic." The voice was scathing, but as Snape said 'pathetic' a slight thrill ran through Harry.

"I'm sure my sarcasm will be greatly improved after extended amounts of time with you, sir. Probably just one of the many things you will teach me." Harry was seriously making an effort here. Who knew that bandying words with Snape could be so difficult?

"I highly doubt you'll be able to learn _anything_ from me, Potter, due to your miraculously astounding stupidity. Anything you do learn will most likely be the result of a happy accident." Harry was starting to get furious. He came in, had _tried_ to be polite and unassuming, and the guy fucking attacks him anyway. He tried to shut out the emotions roiling through him, knowing they would be most unhelpful.

"Les start." He said tersely.

"No longer inclined to chat? Very well, Potter. The headmaster says he gave you a book on rudimentary Occlumency. How far have you gotten?"

"I've finished it." Harry responded, not expecting Snape to believe him.

"Let me rephrase. How many of the exercises have you completed successfully?" Snape was sneering again. Why did Snape always do things that could be described with words that started with an S? He's either smirking, or sneering, or snarking, or being sarcastic, or sardonic, or sadistic, or s….stupid! Harry thought to himself, getting completely off-track as he started trying to think of more 's' words. The exercise helped him to regain control of his emotions, and he felt better for having done it.

"All of them." He responded, once again—for the most part—calm.

"Demonstrate." And he did. It took the entire designated two hours, but he demonstrated. When Snape found him lacking—which was rare—he corrected him with the usual snark, but the man seemed less and less hateful—more and more like a true teacher. The sarcasm and other pieces of nastiness began to seem performed more by route than malice.

"Tomorrow Potter, same time. We'll start on the true work then."

"Thank you Professor. I look forward to more of your compliments on my progress, they are quite encouraging." Snape threw a heavy book-end at the closing door, and Harry skittered away chuckling to himself.

That little _fucking…_

The strange thing was, Potters last comment hadn't had even a hint of sarcasm. It was ridiculous, because he had been his usual, nasty self throughout the lesson. How could Potter have been _serious?_

Right. Contemplation. Not good.

Snape walked over to the bar and poured himself a generous dose of scotch.

This was going to be a very long summer.

* * *

A/N: Another update! I'm pooped for now, so no more! For a bit. But please review—it will help me STAY back.


	10. Chapter 9: Nightmares

Chapter 9: Nightmares

Harry Potter was having nightmares. At least, that's what he preferred to call them. While his actual _dreams_ had no normal qualities that nightmares often posses—fear, pain, terror, hatred—when he awoke he found himself in such a state of confusion and shock, abject horror and misery, that he could call the dream nothing but a nightmare.

However the correct term, when he was being honest with himself, was fantasy. Or perhaps 'erotic dream'. Either way, Harry Potter wasn't too honest with himself in this particular area. In fact, he refused to even _think_ the word 'fantasy'. The word remained a primordial pressure in the back of his skull—pushing to be recognized, insisting on its existence, but never fully realized.

The reason he refused to recognize these nightmares for what they were was the unusual—even abhorrent—subject matter.

And so, Professor Snape became a prominent figure in Harry's nightmares. It wasn't surprising, Harry would tell himself. The man is the bane of my existence—why _wouldn't_ he be a fixture of my nightmares?

When the small, insistent voice of rationality pressed in on him to take a closer look, he ignored it. Snape is my enemy, and thus I have nightmares about him. Perfectly natural. Even if I'm dreaming about him in a…sexual light, well, _that's_ a nightmare in itself, isn't it? Actually, I think they call it _rape._

And thus did he delude himself.

The nightmares—or fantasies—were nowhere near as explicit as 'rape', in all actuality. In fact, had Harry been concerned about proper terminology in his self-imposed fabrication, he would certainly have used the term 'molestation', perhaps even simply, 'harassment'. For the dreams were fueled purely by—repressed—memories of Harrys. The way he had felt a sudden thrill in their most recent verbal battle, the way he had began to contemplate Snapes intensity. These small occurrences were embellished and elaborated upon in his dreams, but his subconscious never went beyond dark and terrible glimpses of what _could_ happen. And to Harry's relief, all this made it even easier to lie to himself. He wasn't even _gay_, so why would the dreams be anything _but_ nightmares?

The first week of summer had passed, for the most part, uneventfully. Hermione, Draco, and Harry took extended and exhaustive courses in anything that could possibly be relevant to their survival of the impending war. More advanced Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, History(though, only recent, relevant history, which the three actually found fascinating), Care of Magical Creatures, Runes—everything they might possibly need. Snape taught Harry Occlumency/Legilimency Tuesday-Thursday, while Hermione and Draco spent their evenings together, and alone.

The Potions lessons were different than the school-year ones. Snape no longer pampered Draco, and Draco learned that he wasn't much better at Potions than Harry, which he admirably took in stride. While Snape still managed to be aloof and cool, even nasty, he concentrated more on teaching than harassing Harry, and Harry soon found that he enjoyed the challenge potions presented him.

Hermione had invited Harry to the musical Les Miserables, with her parents, scheduled for Tuesday night. Harry was disheartened—there was no way that Snape would excuse him from Tuesday night's lesson, but he needed to try anyway. Thus he took himself down to the dungeons Sunday night, ready for battle.

"Sir?" He called as he knocked on the door.

"Enter." He did so and found his professor sitting at the desk in the corner, writing on a very long piece of parchment. Harry stood respectfully aside, waiting for the man to pause, or finish. He didn't want to annoy the man now, not when he had a favor to ask. Luckily he didn't have to wait long—Snape put his quill aside with a sigh and looked up.

"Can I be of some assistance, Mister Potter?" the biting, sarcastic tone made Harry wince. This was _not_ going to go well.

"Sir, I was wondering if you might excuse me from Tuesday night's lesson, and perhaps I could make it up on Friday, or even Monday. You see, Hermione has invited me to see Les Miserables with her and her parents." He cut himself off. He had _wanted_ to say that it was a chance he rarely had, but he knew Snape would no doubt jump on that, assuming Harry was going for pity.

"And in your arrogance, I'm sure you assume that I have nothing better to do with my time on Mondays or Fridays." Snape looked foreboding. Actually, he looked like he was building up to an explosion. He wasn't the only one. Harry was working on a quick boil, and it was him, and not Snape, who exploded first.

"Can't you fucking just SEE ME for a change?" Harry shouted, simultaneously shoving nearly eleven years of memories into Snape heavily barricaded mind. Images of Harry flashed through both of their minds—Harry in his cupboard, Harry coking, Harry cleaning, gardening, taking beatings, going without food. Harry without friends, being excluded, being laughed at, being chased, being ridiculed, teased, and tormented. Harry crying, Harry lonely Harry hurting. All in rapid succession. When it was over, Harry was breathing hard and felt faint—it was quite an effort to do what he had done, and he hadn't even known he had been able to do it.

"Very _good_ Potter. Tell me, do I need to make you _angry_ for you to succeed in our lessons? Because if that is the case, then I can think of a numerous amount of ways to get you…riled." Snape sneered—an expression of such complete loathing it nearly took Harry's breath away.

"I can see you're a man completely devoid of compassion, or any other human tendencies. Forgive me for ever doubting it." Harry said with such a deeply returned amount of anger that, had rage not already been in complete control of him, he might have been surprised at himself. With that he turned on his heel and left the room.

"Tuesday, 8'oclock," Snape called after him, apparently completely unaffected.

Harry was fuming. Had he really been so…so fucking _stupid_ to think that Snape—Snape!—would be able to empathize, be able to _understand_ why Harry needed the infrequent but vital social activity? What the fuck is wrong with me? He thought to himself, trying to get a grip on his rampaging emotions.

And really, like the git couldn't move whatever he had planned for Monday/Friday to Tuesday if he wanted to! Not like he _had_ anything planned. He was a bloody loner, without friends or a social life. And he had to inhibit Harry's social life just to be a bloody _prick_.

He got halfway down the hall before he was forced to stop and take out his anger on the nearby, innocent wall. Fucking _great_. Just fucking bloody _perfect._ He was finally away from the Dursleys and he _still_ didn't have a fucking social life. Hermione and Draco spent most of their free time together—this outing was supposed to be for him, his and Hermiones friendship. _His_ social life. And he'd shared most of his fucking life with the goddamn bastard—true, not the really bad stuff, but bad enough! How insane had he become?

Fucking _prick_.

* * *

Harry was prompt to his Tuesday night lesson, not for any particular responsibility he felt towards his Professor, but rather because he had nothing better to do. At least he manages to piss me off every time, he thought to himself with a bit of morbid humor. It can't be said he doesn't elect passionate responses…

That thought led him to thinking about his nightmares, and he quickly brushed it away. None of that, he told himself.

He entered the living room when he was given permission, and Snape was standing near the fire, an uncharacteristic —so Harry thought—glass of firewhiskey in his hands. When Snape heard him enter, however, he quickly set aside the glass on the small bar and began talking—all of this so fast that Harry didn't have the time to consider the strange occurrence of spirits.

"The Headmaster has asked me to instruct you on certain things that you will need to know in order to face this war. While I have argued that you are too young, the man insists that events are already moving ahead of us, and that you have already seen much—too much, for a child your age." This was uncharacteristic as well—Snape never explained his motives. Harry began to feel uneasy, but the mention of his being too young had made him defiant, as well.

"What exactly do these lessons…entail?" He asked, almost hesitantly. The firewhiskey and Snapes odd explanation had made Harry cautious—how bad could the lessons be, to make this man—_this_ man—cautious when approaching them. Even…nervous? Perhaps…hesitant?

"We will start with the unforgivables. You need to be able to withstand the Imperious and the Crutiatus, as well as cast all three of them. Not that I think you'll be able to _manage_ most of it, but that will be where we begin." Harrys face had taken on a serious cast. He knew the gravity of the war—the amount of death and pain it would entail. The amount of resolve it would take, for him, personally, in order to help them win in. That amount of resolve had to be enough to fuel his unforgivable curses.

"I understand, sir." Snape gave him a mocking smile.

"Do you? Before we begin with the unforgivables, let's talk about the war. Why do you want to fight The Dark lord and his followers?" Harry very nearly spluttered.

"Because—he's evil! They're evil! He killed my mum and dad and so many other people—rape and slaughter and—" Snapes glare cut him short.

"Really, Mister Potter? So, to follow your line of reasoning, if you were to think _me_ evil, it would be acceptable to kill me?" Harry looked apoplectic.

"No—" He took a deep breath, stood a minute to think. "It's because—this is a _great_ evil. Because if we _don't_ fight, the world will be cast in the shadow of darkness for a very long time. Because if we want to preserve things like love, and honor and _goodness_, we have to kill the ones who would desecrate all things pure, for no other sake than death. Because…because they fight for death, and we fight for life. Lives lost, as well as those still standing, still being born, still _living_." Harry was breathing heavily when he completed his speech, and he also looked vaguely proud of himself for something so well-composed. Snape was surprised as well, but he didn't show it.

"Very eloquent, Mister Potter. So do you believe you can kill other people—other human beings—if necessary to preserve other lives?" Harry gave a firm, resolute nod.

"I know I won't be able to, at first. I know I'm still…innocent. But I want to learn, and I need to know. I trust you to teach me what I need to know—I trust your judgment." Snape felt affronted. He probably even looked it a little bit, because Harry rushed to explain.

"I mean, I don't trust you on _everything_. But you're certainly the only person who knows this much about _this_ subject."

"Indeed," Snape responded snidely. Good think the brat had followed up with an explanation—the man didn't need any reason to feel inclined towards the boy.

"So, what…first?"

"First you will withstand the Crutiatus curse until you can last three minutes without going into muscular spasms or muscular atrophy."  
"Three _minutes?"_

"Ten minutes is the longest record—be glad I'm not forcing you to that. As it is, most people cannot withstand even one without becoming paralyzed. You must build a tolerance, and few people are inclined to do so, for obvious reasons. However it might become necessary for you to be able to make a quick retreat after three minutes of the curse, and Voldemort will not be expecting you to have a tolerance."

"That's actually…a great idea. Who holds the record?" Snape was moving pieces of furniture to the sides of the room, to clear a large empty space in the middle.

"I do." There was a smirk even in his _voice_, with his back turned and everything!

"No wonder." Harry said dryly, smirking himself.

"Enough. Crucio!"

And thus Harrys evenings became very long and torturously painful.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry lay panting on the plush carpet of Snapes living room.

"You're improving. 4 minutes." Snape delivered in a brusque tone as he paced back and forth near Harrys head.

"Can we...make it five?" Harry said through gasps of air.

"Glutton for punishment, are we?" As one might guess, Harrys nightmares had gotten worse with such remarks as they became more and more frequent—prompted by Harrys stubborn wish to exceed 3 minutes on the Crutiatus curse.

"No...I just…want to be…prepared." Snape nearly snorted.

"You realize your tolerance level must be…maintained." He commented.

"Fuck me." Was Harrys exasperated and disheartened response.

"Riveting vocabulary, Mister Potter, as always. However I suggest you restrain from using that particular exclamation around you little…fan-girls." Harry winced.

"Uhg! So this means you're going to have the pleasure of torturing my poor helpless form for, what, three more years? At _least_? Why did we start this _now_?"

"To prepare you. You could easily be put under this curse as soon as this school year. And…also because this is the least painful of the lessons I have been ordered to teach you." Passing over the thought that Snape wanted to _spare_ him, Harry responded with sarcasm.

"What, there's stuff more painful than _this_?" He hadn't moved from the floor—his body was still reacting to the four-and-a-half minutes of physical torture.

"Psychological and emotional pain tend to be more lasting than physical, Potter."

"Oh." Now he understood. "C'mon, let's shoot for five minutes."

"Potter, you're already able to throw off the Imperius curse completely, you can cast both on spiders transfigured into _children_, but you still haven't been able to perform the most critical, even on spiders in their natural form. Once you get that last down, I would be happy to crucio you into oblivion. Now get up." Harry groaned, but he rose. It was true, what Snape said. He had been able to force himself to use the first two unforgivables, but he had a block about the last.

"Maybe…" Harry mused as he massaged his lower back, "Maybe if you made me angry, you know, I could do it. Just to start. Just to get over this block I have." Snape thought about it.

"I've restrained from doing so thus far because I don't want you to get so angry you kill _me_. Tell me, why do you think you have a block about this particular curse? You've surprised both the headmaster and myself with your resolve to learn the first two. Why this one?" Harry looked down.

"Because I can _remember_ that night. I can remember…my mother, screaming my name. 'No, not Harry, _please_ not Harry!'." He took a ragged breath. "Because I can see that green light, in my dreams. Because I know death—and I am loathe to re-create it." Snape was struggling to get ahold of his emotions. Neither of them had mentioned Harry's parents—ever. And Lily…Lily had been Snapes one, true friend. The vivid image Harry painted was enough to send wracking pain through him, accompanied with shame, guilt, and loss.

"Shouldn't have asked." Snape mutter gruffly, and Harry looked curiously at his professor. The man wore his usual mask, but his eyes…his eyes held some emotion Harry could not name. The mention of his parents—and, more specifically—his mother, had elected a response from this man—a feat that that Harry had thought impossible. He felt uncomfortable again, and to break the uneasy silence that had sprung up, he spoke more loudly than was necessary.

"Sorry. Shouldn't have been so detailed, so personal. Anyway, lets try making me angry. I don't think I'd cast it on you, professor. I'm going to _need_ your help in this war. I'll remember that." Snape nodded.

"Fine. We'll give it a try."

* * *

"You're _stalling_, god damnit!" Harry finally burst, four weeks in to the summer.

"Excuse me?" Snape asked coldly, not looking up from his parchment.

"You're stalling. I've been able to shake the Imperius for weeks, I've got the Crutiatus down at _six_ minutes, I can Avada Kadavra a spider transfigured to look like my _dad_ in a fucking _second_. I'm ready! Let's step it up! Dumbledore thinks I need to know whatever it is you have to show me, and you're prancing around it like a cat around a mouse. _Show me_, for Gods sake! What, do you care so much about _me_ that you don't want me to _know? FUCK!"_ Snape stood swiftly, disposing of his quill as he advanced on the disheveled boy before him. Harry, knowing he had gone too far, steadily backed up for every step Snape took forward, but soon he was against a wall. That didn't stop Snape. He took the boy by the throat and _shoved_ him against the hard, cold wall, snarling in his face.

"You want to _see_, you impudent boy? You could not even _dream_ what I've seen—not in your worst nightmares."Snape was growling, and Harry, frantic, said the first thing to come to mind.

"Funny—my nightmares all center around _you!_" he yelled. The mere mention of his nightmares had begun a chain reaction that Harry was unable to halt. Being pressed between the wall and Snape as he was, the mental wall he had built in his mind began to crumble, then utterly collapse as his 'nightmares' flooded his conscious mind. Horrified, Harry felt himself growing hard against his Professors leg, and he closed his eyes in utter embarrassment. Even stranger, he felt a similar hardness growing against his belly. Just as he realized exactly what was happening, Snape spoke again, with vicious pleasure and equal rage.

"You want to see, little boy? Then _see,"_ And with that a torrent of images thrust themselves into Harrys mind, more controlled, detailed, and elaborate than his attack on Snape had ever been. His consciousness of the real world quickly dwindled, and soon he was entirely immersed in a memory.

-~!~!~!

_A young, beautiful woman and her unmistakable daughter stood, chained to a dirty wall in a large, well-lit basement. The woman could not have been more than twenty-six years of age, and the daughter, not above twelve. A small group of Death Eaters, mask-less, formed a semi-circle around them. Lucius Malfoy, and four others Harry could not name, then Snape himself, whose eyes Harry saw through._

"_Our Master gave us full leave," One of the nameless Death Eaters said with glee, a malicious grin painting his ugly face._

"_Correction, Aminous. The Dark Lord gave Severus and I full leave. You, on the other hand, are allowed only the remains." Lucius smirked at Snape, sharing the pleasure of the take town. Snape smirked in return._

"_Awwwe c'mon Lucy—"_

"_Do _not_ call me that." The other man said with such formidable loathing that Aminous fell immediately silent. "Well, Severus? Shall we begin?" _

"_Indeed, my friend." Snapes voice held sadistic pleasure for the impending torture._

After, Harry became confused and disoriented. While the memory was still clear and vivid with detail, he was no longer able to process it—no longer able to comprehend—and thus it came to him as flashes of images and disembodied voices.

"_Here, my dear Lucius. I know you prefer the younger ones. Take her, before I do." That silky, beautiful voice that Harry had often heard in his dreams…_

"_Why…thank you, Severus." A knowing smirk._

_Blood. Horrifying images—things Harry didn't even know were possible. And very, very slow death._

LET ME OUT! He screamed at Snape, to no avail. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Snape released him from the memory.

"Do you _see_ now, Harry?" Snapes voice was scathing but ragged. It had taken effort to force such a long and detailed memory into an unwilling subject.

Harry was gasping, now sitting against the wall as Snape stalked away from him, tears streaming down his face, unnoticed. He slowly curled up into a ball, gasping and shaking, against the hard, cold floor.

"How—how—" he tried to speak, but it wouldn't come between the rapid breaths.

Snape was beginning to feel a great weight settle on him. It had been too soon—_far_ too soon—for that particular memory. He had lost his temper—terribly—and then the curious incident that occurred directly before he had shared the memory had disoriented him to such an extent that he pushed even harder—nothing made him angrier than confusion. Now, while he didn't regret sharing the memory—they would have come to it sooner or later, and there was no use in coddling the boy—he regretted that he had shared it in a fit of anger. He berated himself for losing control. _Never_ had he lost control…until this boy had arrived.

Finally, with much gulping, Harry was able to get the words out.

"How can you _stand_ it?" he asked, obviously stupefied by the amount of severe self-control and concentration it must take for Snape to be a double-agent in the war.

"Maybe I _enjoy_ it, Potter," Snape snapped, yet again unable to restrain himself while he wrestled his emotions under control.

Harry was quiet, and Snape turned to him, still enraged.

"Get out, Potter."

"But—"

"Get OUT!"

Harry quickly fled.

* * *

A week had passed, with Snape in complete absentia. Finally deciding that he needed to address the most recent lesson, and its ensuing effects, Harry decided to write Snape a letter. He had contemplated and gone over every detail of their last lesson, and had come to some very harsh—even cruel—conclusions.

When he had finished writing the letter, he handed it to Dobby, who 'most assuredly assured' him that it would reach Professor Snape, seal in-tact.

Good then.

* * *

Severus was surprised to find Dobby the house-elf waiting for him in his living room. For the past week he had done nothing but read, write several papers for different academic reasons, brew potions, and drink. Heavily. Now, as the house-elf handed him a sealed envelope, he wondered if Albus was checking in on him in a round-about and obscure way. With a slight prick of curiosity, he sat down at his desk and unsealed the letter as Dobby vanished.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I have contemplated our recent lesson with the severity I imagine you might devote to a complex potion, and I am writing now to share my conclusions and to plead for a recommencement of our lessons. _

_I will start from the end of our lesson, and work our way backwards._

_In response to your scathing comment; 'perhaps I enjoy it.'—well, perhaps you do. You wouldn't be the first sadist to exist, nor the last. But I doubt very much that you _wanted_ to do what you did in the first place, and that's the crux of it, isn't it? I've had a long time to contemplate (for more personal reasons) the difference between enjoyment of such acts, and actually wanting them, and I believe there is a difference. If a masochist is brutalized and raped by a stranger—and they enjoy it—does that mean they _wanted_ it? I think not, and I think it is also true of the reverse—for sadists. Now, whether or not you are sadistic is entirely your own affair—perhaps you said what you did simply to disgust or repel me. But there is my response, in case you were serious._

_Secondly—the memory itself. I was shocked, yes. Horrified. I'm afraid that memory, and, if our lessons continue, many others, will forever stay with me. However, it was also insightful. I understand why I must see these things in preparation for the things to come. Undoubtedly I may even be forced to witness such things being done to people I _know_, god forbid, people I _love_. I need to be prepared. Moreover, I understand that it was not your intent to force such brutal a memory upon me for the first one. I provoked you to it and I take full responsibility, and I do not blame you._

_Lastly, I want you to know that I respect you, and the work you do for the Order, and for me. I am not unaware of the ways in which you have denied danger—even death—from shadowing me. I also found respect for you in fourth year, with the way you approached the minister in the hospital wing. Even more now, when I am aware of the things you must do in order to maintain your place as a spy—a desperately needed spy—in Voldemort's inner circle. I have denied these feelings of respect and—to be honest—admiration within myself because it was far easier to simply hate you. After the past month, I can no longer lie to myself on that matter, and I hope that this honesty from me might compel you to return it in kind—though I'm aware you likely will not. _I _feel better for being honest, so I suppose that's all that matters. I understand better now why you ac the way you do—towards me, and others—and I will attempt to remember that understanding in the future. Perhaps we may even form—dare I say it—a truce of sorts. _

_I hold nothing against you and I would like to resume our lessons as soon as possible. Whatever has kept you from doing so thus far, I hope this letter has addressed those issues._

_-Harry_

_PS: I know I'm more eloquent in writing, you need not comment on it._

Snape sat for a moment, practically dumbfounded at the amount of careful thought, eloquence, and deliberation in the boys letter. Who knew he had the _brains?_

Granted, he had been given a week to compose the letter, but it was still a remarkable piece of writing, especially for a fifteen-year-old. Severus found himself intrigued by the mention of 'personal reasons' in the letter, as well as the Harry Potter that the letter revealed—a deeper understanding. He also found it curious that Potter did not mention—or even hint at—the odd occurrence that took place before the sharing of the memory; the mention of nightmares that turned drastically into arousal, on both of their parts.

Contemplation, he reminded himself, is _not_ healthy.

Sighing, he knew he now had no reason to keep their lessons suspended. He penned a hasty reply.

_Tomorrow, usual time. _

And that was all.

* * *

A/N: what do you think? This will be it for a while, until I get more reviews on chapters 7-9. I need some feedback before I keep going, but I have some ideas that you readers should find –quite—delectable. :P Please review!


	11. Chapter 10: Honesty

A/N: It was quite a pleasure to open my inbox this morning—after much hardship in fixing my computer—to find _ten_ reviews, not even 24hours after chapter 9 went up. Because of that, I have decided to write and post chapter 10 sooner than I had planned. Thank you to those people who sent me reviews—and a special thanks to those faithful people who have reviewed more than one chapter! I'm going to go take care of a few things before I sit down for the long haul, but I wanted to write these thanks, first.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Ten: Honesty

There were two weeks left until the start of school, and Hermione and her parents had been able to schedule several outings around Harry's vigorous schedule—the group of four had now been out to see three symphonies and two theatrical productions; Oliver Twist and Les Miserables. Harry had enjoyed these productions very much, and found that he and Hermione shared an interest in musicals for the same reasons she had listed earlier.

One time, walking towards the greenhouses with her, they had bumped into Snape and Draco walking in the opposite direction. Whatever the two Slytherins had been discussing, they had the look of a godfather with his godson. Catching part of Harry and Hermiones conversation (centered around the character of Jean Valjean), both Slytherins had given their trademark sneer—Snapes was truly mocking, while Draco's was teasing, bordering on indulgent. Harry and Hermione had hurried on in order to give the other two privacy. Whatever they had been talking about, it looked to be doing both of them some good. As the two Gryffindors walked away, they heard Draco's clear voice echo off the halls.

"They're really not that bad, you know." The two had smiled at one another. Maybe Draco could convince Snape of what Dumbledore had not been able to.

Altogether, Harry was having a strange summer. It was almost as though the entire holiday was separated into halves; light and dark. The light side was, of course, Hermione, even Draco, as well as his less demanding lessons, which he took during the day. The dark side was, of course, his nightly lessons with Snape. This division caused a peculiar line in Harry's emotions and demeanor. Much of the time, he could be found happy and carefree; waging a small pranking war between himself and Draco, playing games of chess with Hermione(Harry always won), or simply reading a good book by the fire in his room. Other times he would be pulled so deep into a brooding, reflective mood that not even Hermione could pull him out. The darker moods worried his friends (his friends in the Order visiting him frequently), but Albus Dumbledore assured them all that Harrys moods were natural for what he was currently learning, and that he saw no particular cause for concern quite yet.

In the midst of all of this, Harry's lessons with Snape had progressed apace. Neither had another outburst, and they were able to maintain Harry's tolerance of the Crucio and guide him along through some particularly devastating memories. While Harry never mentioned it, he began to notice a change in his professor as the memories progressed from bad to worse. Sometimes the man would wince at Harry's voice and squint, as though he had a bad migraine or a hangover, his hair might look greasier than normal, or sometimes he smelled more like rumpled and dirty sheets than like his unique, earthy fragrance. Not that Harry was _sniffing_ the man, but the scent was rather hard to ignore, either way.

One night, after a particularly harsh memory, Harry sat shaking on the couch, his reoccurring tears not yet dry on his face, when Snape handed him a glass of dark liquid.

"Here." Was all he said, sitting in the armchair adjacent to the couch with his own glass of firewhiskey.

"What is it?" Harry asked, peering into the cup and sniffing it with a suspicious look on his face.

"It's rum and coke. I assumed raw firewhiskey or scotch would be too harsh a taste for you. This is better." He motioned with his glass towards Harrys, which was cupped in both hands. The boy took a tentative sip, then looked up with widened eyes.

"This is good!" He took a hearty gulp.

"Don't gulp, Potter. I'm not inclined to deal with you being drunk—I can hardly stand you sober." Snapes snark seemed more put-on than ever, like he was too weary to find the loathing for the boy right now.

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm easier to deal with when I'm drunk." Harry was trying for a joke, but the aftershock of the most recent memory had put him too far down to come up with much humor.

"Pathetic attempt at humor, Potter, yet again."

"Yeah, well, now isn't the best time for it, anyway. Thank you—this stuff is very good." Snape inclined his head at the thanks. Despite the older mans warnings, Harry's glass was soon half-empty. Luckily Snape had anticipated something of the sort, and had only put two fingers of rum into the boys drink.

"I don't feel anything yet," Harry said, frowning at his glass, which he now held up to the light of the fire as though he could _see_ how much rum it contained with the right amount of light.

"Again, I gave you that to steady your nerves, not so you could get drunk and make a mess of my living room."

"Why not? I won't mess up your living room, I swear. But honestly…drinking feels like the correct reaction to something…like that." Harry waved his hand, indicating the memory.

"True as that may be, Potter, what in the world makes you think I'd ever be inclined to _welcome_ your atrocious company?" Snape had intended to hurt the boy, and for a moment, as Harrys face fell, he thought he had succeeded. But said boy was determined, and the drink he held emboldened him further.

"Idunno, Maybe because you _know_, better than me, better than anyone, what it's like to need a good healthy drink. You've conceded that point already, haven't you? And whether either of us likes it—or wants to admit it—we're sharing something most people don't—or can't—share, with these memories. And even if you hate me, that kind of sharing might make two people into good drinking partners, anyway." Harry had finished his drink by this time, and he set it down on the coffee table, careful to set it closer to Snape than to himself, but also careful to use a coaster. The table was a very _nice_ table, really…who knew Snape had taste?

"You know Potter, for once you make an excellent point. Don't expect this to become a regular part of our lessons, however. Drinking is not the way to face all things. Only the worst things. Only sometimes." Harry nodded at that wisdom, glad that Snape didn't think he would turn into an alcoholic for this, glad that the man understood. Snape rose and refilled both glasses, this time allowing Harry a glass that was a full one-third of rum. Returning to his seat, he handed Harry his drink before speaking again.

"This time I suggest you truly nurse that. If you drink it as fast as you did the last one, you _will_ be making a mess on my carpet. One you'll be forced to clean yourself after I shove your nose into it." Harry snorted at the mental image as he realized wonderingly that Snape had made a _joke_. True, the man was obviously serious about his threat, and Harry didn't doubt he would carry through, but it had still been _funny_.

Harry sniffed the drink and found the scent of alcohol much more prominent. He smiled a genuine thanks at Snape, and took a drink.

"Should we talk, or something?" He asked, revealing his uncertainty about this new—and very adult—territory. He felt a wave of gratitude for Snape, silently thankful that the man wasn't treating him like a child, just now. That he was in fact almost treating him as an equal. Coming from Snape, that meant quite a lot.

"Do we have to?" Snape's voice held a terseness, one that hadn't been there before. In all reality this was new territory for him, as well, and he wasn't sure he was making the right decision. Giving a fifteen year old boy alcohol wasn't exactly a _virtue_, no matter what horrors he had been forced to witness. On the other hand, a deep part of him found the situation almost hysterically funny—that he would be downing drinks with the-boy-who-lived-to-enrage-Professor-Snape. Perhaps it was the letter Harry had written, or perhaps it was the prolonged amounts of interaction the two had been forced into, but Snape no longer hated Harry _quite_ as much as he once had. True, the insufferable brat still managed to piss him off more often than not, but Snape could no longer deny the boy had some talent, some intelligence, no matter how loathe he was to admit it.

"Idunno, but sitting here drinking in silence probably wont improve either of our moods," Harry pointed out. Snape sighed.

"True enough. What would you like to talk about?" Harry seemed to be contemplating something. Finally he looked up at his Professor, taking a healthy swig of his drink as he did so.

"Actually, I noticed how much you seem to be writing when I come in for lessons. I assume you can't be grading anything, because it's the summer hols and all that, so I was wondering…what _are_ you doing?" Snape hadn't been expecting such curiosity about his own life. In fact, the only thing he _had_ been expecting was Harry wanting to talk about Quidditch. Or perhaps the memory they had just shared. He had been preparing himself so much for that last one, that Harrys question had caught him completely off-guard.

Snape looked like he was hesitant to answer, and Harry, not wanting to lose the tenuous truce, quickly spoke again. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just curious, is all. Don't worry about it."

"No, it's fine. They're journals—Potions journals. Hard as it may be for you to believe, the title of Potions Master is harder to earn than that of Minister. Because I'm one of only six Potions Masters in Europe, I'm invited to write some of the academic journals on the subject. Sometimes, when I invent a new Potion or discover a new use for an ingredient, I also write articles or papers on those subjects." Harry was staring at him with shock and a bit of awe, and Snape immediately felt uncomfortable. He noticed Harry's glass was almost half-empty, and frowned heavily in disapproval. Harry, noticing the direction of his professors look, hastily set the glass down on the tale and leaned back into the couch, giving the idea he wouldn't take a drink for a while.

"That's amazing! I never knew. I mean, of course I didn't know, but still. That's really interesting! When was the last time you invented your own potion? What was it?" At Harry's avid interest, Snape relaxed a molecule and actually began to enjoy the conversation. While his facial features didn't change overmuch, there was a gleam to his eyes that Harry had never seen before. Smiling, Harry listened closely.

"The last potion I invented was called Verum in Umbra. It's a…it's a preliminary cure for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, I had a psychologist at one point." Snape restrained himself from asking why, or in what context he had heard that term before.

"Well, it was preliminary so it didn't _cure_ PTSD. It could more accurately be called a gateway potion, actually. The effects of the potion open the way to psychological help for the more troublesome patients. You see, the tougher patients—the ones with more frequent or more gruesome traumatic events in their past—have created so many defensive mechanisms to keep themselves whole, they are nearly unreachable through normal psycho-therapy. With the help of the potion, the patient becomes relaxed, more able to speak of traumatic experiences with a detached, logical mind. The potion allows these patients and almost third-person perspective on their own personal psychological state, and enables the psychologist to guide them through the more complicated procedures that will eventually lead to recovery." Snape took a drink of his scotch, wondering if the boy had understood all that.

"That's brilliant!" Harry seemed unable to say more than that for several moments, and he took another drink of his rum and coke while he thought.

"Excuse me for saying so sir, but it sounds as though the target of such a potion might easily be…well, yourself." Harry put up his hands defensively as Snapes face clouded over. "AND! I think that, if you targeted yourself with such work, than that is very _admirable_ damnit! Stop looking at me like you're about to him me and _listen!_ It's great, Professor, that you would have the _ability_ to recognize your own disorder and be self-minded enough to _do_ something about it! It's more than great, it's brilliant. I know enough from your own memories that you could easily have PTSD, no problem. In fact I'd be surprised if you _didn't_. The fact that you recognized that and did something about it—something so complex and intelligent, something only _you_ could do—that damn near amazing, _OKAY?_" Snape still looked murderous, so Harry hurried on.

"And I want you to know something else." He said it so seriously that Snape was forced to raise an eyebrow. From half-panicky and blubbering to serious and grave within two seconds—this boy had more emotional range than most girls.

"Maybe you're a little curious about some of the things I've said before. And maybe I'm kinda drunk. And maybe I need to get myself a psychologist so I don't bother you. But for right now, I want to say something that I haven't told anyone else, and I'm only telling you because you've seen horrible things, and you _know_, so it's back to that we're-on-the-same-ground-in-this-case-so-lets-get-drunk thing. Okay?" Snape inclined his head. His curiosity was certainly piqued, but even more, he was starting to worry about Potters alcohol intake, and whether he should take the drink away from the boy and send him to bed. He was only half listening as Potter began his ramble, not incredibly interested in what the idiot drunk had to say. But, as Harry kept talking, he found himself listening to every word with rapt attention, surprise, and horror.

"So, I already showed you those memories of me without friends and family and love and all that. What you _don't_ know is that I _enjoyed_ being beaten, and for a long time I hated myself. But then I really got to thinking about that thing I was telling you in the letter—the difference between enjoying and wanting something. And you know, I think Reason is my best friend, because without it I'd be really fucked up, you know? But I managed to put some things in perspective using reason. I actually did a lot of research on sadomasochism whenever I was allowed time at the library, and I was able to accept my masochistic tendancies as a part of myself because of that research; knowing I wasn't a freak helped a lot. I also researched psychological disorders, too. And you know, Vernon used to molest me, too. Not since I got my Hogwarts letter, but before that, he did. It never happened too often and thank god he never raped me, but I suffered some of my own PTSD because of it." Harry took a deep breath and gulped down the last contents of his drink.

"And you know, I'm mostly over the PTSD, I think. Coming to Hogwarts was the best thing to happen to me. I made friends that liked me for being me, and I learned things I could never have dreamed of. I exercised my reasoning skills more and more often, and I self-analyzed and examined so much that I never had deep problems with what had been done to me. I mean, at one point I certainly did, but not so much anymore. I still deal with self-doubt, feelings of inadequacy and whatnot, but really, I _know_ I was a victim, and there's something comforting in the fear on the Dursleys faces when they see my friends. And I know I'll be okay. Or maybe I'm just an optimist, so I think I will be. There, that's what I wanted to say. I wanted you to know that, while my own experiences certainly don't compare to yours, I can understand, a little." Harry looked down and said, even softer, "I wanted you to know I'm human, too."

Severus Snape wasn't quite sure how to respond to such a confession. A part of him was filled with rage—rage at the Dursleys, especially Vernon, for what they had done to Lily's son. No, for what they had done to Harry. The last bit of Snapes illusion of a spoiled, arrogant brat fell away. While Potter was still often a nuisance to him, he could no longer escape the very fact the boy had pushed on him—he _was_ human. Even worse than the rage, an emotion Severus had not felt for a long time had begun to insistently probe his mind; compassion. No, whatever Harry Potter was, he was nothing like his father, and only a little like Lily. Most of Harry's personality and demeanor was all his own.

"Alright, Potter. Duly noted." That was the only verbal response he could think of at the moment, his mind still whirling from what had been confessed in a booze-induced baring of vulnerability.

"Uhm, could you make a point _not_ to mention any of that to Dumbledore? I know he's well-meaning, but he's nearly insufferable when all he wants to do is help." Snape snorted.

"That, I can agree with. I won't mention it unless you exhibit a serious sign you might need help."

"Thanks. I'll try to keep my dementia out of your sight." Snape almost smiled.

"That's hardly possible for you, Potter." They sat in silence another full minute before Snape spoke again. "I think you should leave now, Potter." Harry nodded tiredly. Before he left the room, he turned at the door and smiled.

"Thanks for not being a git," He said, and left before a second book-end could be thrown his way.

* * *

The last two weeks of summer passed without incident. Besides a brief fit of embarrassment at the start of their next lesson, Harry gave no sign he remembered their latest conversation, and Snape took back to his usual insults and sarcasm. They didn't have the fire they once did, though, and Harry was no longer provoked by most of them. The new, tenuous understanding between the two had allowed for much more patience on Harry's part. Sometimes the two would get into a rage-induced shouting match, hurling insults back and forth like nothing had changed, but neither one lost their control and shouting became more rare as time elapsed.

The day before school started, Harry was in his room, pacing. After much deliberation, hesitancy, and putting it off, he was finally being honest with himself.

_So they're not really nightmares._

Nope.

_They're…fantasies._

That's what I've been telling you.

_Shut up. This is embarrassing! Sure, I respect him more than I ever did, and he's not a complete arse when he forgets himself, but that doesn't make him _fanciable_!_

I'm just the Imagination, here. Talk to Reason if you want to understand it.

_Fine. Reason?_

Roger.

_Why am I having…fantasies…about Snape._

Three possibilities, amigo.

…_And they are?_

One, you're attracted to him. Just, flat-out, you like his voice and body and smell and all that. Attraction. That doesn't automatically make you gay or bi. If you want to figure out _that_ little bit of confusion, think about girls and see how it makes you feel, maybe try kissing some.

_Oh god…what's number two?_

Number two is that you feel comfortable with him. You two are sharing things, intimacies, that few people share. Due to that, you're naturally taking out your rampaging hormones on the most comfortable, intimate figure in your acquaintance. Completely natural to have a fixation on a teacher—someone you can trust and learn from. Definitely natural.

_Sounds better. And three?_

Three is that your traumatic experiences in the past have led you to have a self-destructive preference for angry—even brutal—men, preferences you wouldn't possess without Vernon and his games.

_Can I cure that?_

You could, probably. But the thing about number three is that it's contradicted by the fact that you respect, even admire professor Snape. You are also convinced—even if you wont admit it—that he would never hurt you if he could help it. Numbers one and two are much more logical in this case.

_Oh. Thanks, reason._

Right-o mi amie. If you want to disprove one or two, let me know.

_Wait yeah, how can I do that? _

Date some other people, have some normal teenage sexual interaction. If your fantasies don't dissipate, you can assume your problem is number one.

_And if it is?_

Approach him, with caution. Or make it known you wouldn't mind being approached.

_But he's my PROFESSOR! And a PRICK, most of the time!_

Maybe he needs to get laid.

_Oh, go stuff it up your ass._

That's _your_ ass, too, m'dear.

_SHUT UP!_

Harry knew that talking to himself wasn't the sanest of things, but he found it easier to reason out his problems through conversation. Luckily the conversation remained in his head, because Hermione was standing in the doorway, and he had no idea how long she'd been there, watching his silent and sometimes furious progress from one end of the room to another.

"Something on your mind?" She asked gently, sitting down on his bed and crossing her legs.

"Yeah," He suddenly felt weary, and sat down across from her, hanging his head in his hands.

"Ugh!" he intoned, unable to hide his distress.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asked. He knew if he said no, she'd sit quietly and comfort him as best she could, and she wouldn't push or prod like so many others. But Harry _wanted_ to be honest. Maybe not completely honest, but partially. He wanted to gauge her reaction, to know if the dreams he was having and the way he was feeling was…acceptable.

"Hermione, I'm having some serious, um, attraction issues." Hermione thought quickly through the possible subject of his attraction.

"Professor Snape?" She asked, and he started, wide-eyed, almost panicky.

"How—?"

"It's not too hard, really. Snape is the only one _complex_ enough to catch your interests." Harry barked a laugh.

"Seriously? How do you know I go for complexity?"

"Oh, probably because you never do anything the easy way." She said teasingly, and he smiled half-heartedly.

"But Hermione, isn't it…Idunno, a bit off?" She cocked her head to the side, thinking.

"Do you mean the fact that he's male? That's not unnatural, really. It's perfectly common in other animals…and humans are sometimes more touchy about it, that's all. Especially muggles." Harry laughed derisively.

"Yeah, no doubt."

"As for the fact that he's your teacher, and so much older than you…you aren't exactly 15, are you? Mentally and emotionally, you've been forced to age far beyond your actual years, so it's really not that surprising. I also think you have a great capacity for adaptation, so even if you find yourself in over your head, you could quickly grow and adapt." Harry gave her a real smile, this time.

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do. But there's other problems. Besides the fact that it's against the rules…You _both_ could really get hurt."

"What?" Harry had to admit he hadn't contemplated the situation from anything beyond his own perspective. Now he was forced to it, he thought about Snape, and how closed he was, how cut off. Instead of chalking that up to the man just being a prick, Harry took a moment and actually realized it was more for self-preservation than anything else. The man was a master at it. He snorted. Maybe his Reason was right; Snape _did_ need to get laid.

"I doubt he'd let himself get emotionally involved, if we even did anything in the first place. He seems the kind to withhold emotional involvement until the other person showed signs of deep affection." Hermione was nodding.

"Quite right, Harry. I just want you to think about this from all possible angles before you decide on anything." Harry laughed another derisive laugh.

"Hermione, I don't _want_ to get involved in _anything_. I just now admitted to myself that I even fancied him, I'm not about to go knocking on his door with flowers." He scrunched his face up in disgust at the image.

"My plan is to get a girlfriend and a boyfriend in the course of this next year, to see if I'm just fixing my hormones on the most likely target. If I can't…distract myself, if the attraction persists, I'll think about it then." Hermione nodded approvingly.

"Good rational. Well….To Harry Potter and his Quest for Relationships!" She lifted an imaginary glass of champagne in the air in a toast. "Come on now, everyone queue right up! No need to be shy! Pretty faces and talented mouths welcome!"Harry blushed furiously, but he couldn't be minded to notice because of how hard he was laughing. Finally able to catch his breath, he looked at the grinning Hermione with wonder.

"I love you," he said sincerely. She kissed him on the forehead and stood up.

"I love you too, dear. Best not let Draco hear us though, he'd get jealous. Our little secret, right?" She winked and he laughed again.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Anytime love." She blew him a kiss, and then she was out his door and gone.

He lay on his bed a long time, relishing his fortune and friends, allowing himself time to accept the latest development in his life.

Well, I _do_ like a challenge, he thought to himself, almost smugly.

* * *

A/N: What do you think, my lovely, wonderful people? Send me reviews, please! I am SORE from sitting hunched over my keyboard like an old witch, so I am going to go play in the sunshine. If you don't review, I won't write again for a while—I forgot writing hurts! Best of wishes,

Cozy


	12. Chapter 11: In the Shadows of the Mind

A/N: Warning: MAJOR cliffy at the end. It's a long chapter, despite that, but still. My desk-chair is an old dining-room chair, so my elbows reaaaaly hurt from sitting here for the past several hours, typing my fingers off. I'll try to write chapter 12 tomorrow, but you people who loathe cliffys might want to wait until 12 is up. Reviews are MAJORLY welcome-all the time-and especially for this chapter. I need to know how it sounds, if things are natural. I'm worried snape is ooc! I don't really care about other characters being ooc, but not snape, never snape. Much love!

Cozy

* * *

Chapter Eleven: In the Shadows of the Mind

The start of fifth year was rigorous in its intensity. Snape had pre-arranged their nightly lessons to commence on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, and by Monday night, Harry was exhausted from his first day back. The other teachers had not gone easy on him because they knew about his extra lessons. Treated like every other fifth year, he had been given a large amount of homework and lectured unendingly about his coming OWLs. Harry felt stabs of irritation as he made his way to the dungeons. With the lessons he had taken over the summer from the other Professors, he had a small head start on his fellow classmates, but that didn't make the work more do-able. He was the central point of a grand-scale war, taking lessons on how to withstand the Crutiatus, for gods' sake, and he still—for some reason—needed to worry about OWLs.

He opened the door to Snapes quarters and set his bag off to the side, sighing deeply.

"Hello sir," He said wearily.

"The vigorous schedule of a normal school day too much for you, Potter?" Snapes sarcastic tone held a real edge, and Harry's irritation grew.

"Not at all, _sir_. I'm just not sure why I should care about OWLs at this point, when I'll probably _die_ in a few years, anyway." He hadn't meant to sound that way—it had come off fatalistic and pretentious. But at the same time, his essential point was true.

"Oh _excuse_ me Potter, I wasn't aware you had such a large amount of self-pity. Permit me to agree with you, however. You _will_ die." Harry was stunned at the certainty in Snapes voice, and his angry grew.

"Then what am I doing here, trying to learn how to defeat him? Or do you just like to torture me with pointless pain for your own goddamn pleasure!" Snape looked murderous, but Harry didn't want to take it back. The man had said he was as good as dead!

"As much as I'm sure you'd _love_ to believe that, Potter, that is not the case." Snape began to pace, his own anger boiling, but under control. Harry could only stand open-mouthed at what his professor was getting at, while a small voice in the back of his head laughed at him. _You started it_.

"Potter, the Headmaster and I were given to understand that your skills with Defense Against the Dark arts were proficient and did not require any work, but after the abysmal duel I witnessed today, I was forced to reconsider." Snape stopped before him, and held up a hand to quell Harry's furious protests. "The point is, Potter, that while you can _withstand_ the worst, _understand_ what you fight and why you fight, you cannot hope to defeat the Dark Lord, or even many of his Death Eaters, with the way you duel."

"What—What am I doing wrong? I beat…" Harry's voice grew softer as he bowed his head. "I beat Neville."

"Longbottom! At least you have the sense to know that _that's_ no accomplishment. What are you doing wrong, Potter? I told the Headmaster that your skill with Occlumency and Legilimency was passing—in fact, sometimes astounding as far as _sharing_ memories of your own, even though that takes a great deal of emotion on your part. But being able to block your link with the Dark Lord is no longer enough, after what I saw today."

"What does Occlumency have to do with Dueling?" Harry asked, confused. Snape leaned in close to Harrys face, snarling.

"_Think_ about it, Potter," he spat. Harry hadn't seen Snape this pissed in a long time. Harry scrambled to think as he had been told, but Snapes face in his made it hard to concentrate.

"Maybe I could think if you would get out of my face!" Harry burst. Snape smirked at him and moved back several paces, turning to face Harry from across the room.

"Oh!" Harrys face lit up with understanding. "You…It's kind of like wandless and nonverbal magic theory, right? If you're not employing Occlumency, your opponent could see what you decide to do before you do it—anticipate your moves. To actually duel well…" His face was full of wonder as he realized the full complexity at what he had only played at, before. "To duel well, you need to block your opponent from anticipating your moves, _as well as be able to anticipate their moves!"_ Snape was not impressed by Harrys sudden understanding.

"And you are nowhere _near_ that, Potter. For now on, you and I will have Dueling lessons Monday and Friday. Wednesdays we'll concentrate on furthering your Occlumency, and anything else I might deem necessary." Harry nodded.

"Yes sir." It was the only response he was able to give. Dueling was more complex than he could ever have imagined, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the prospect of starting more lessons. Not because he dreaded lessons, but because he doubted his own ability to become skilled enough to really do this. To _fight and kill_ Voldemort.

"Did you have a lesson with the new DADA teacher?" The question caught him off-guard for a moment, but Harry was quick enough to respond.

"Umbridge? She's a _toad_. I…" He trailed off in furious muttering, and Snape watched him pace, waiting. "She's horrible! How could Dumbledore have let this happen? It looks to me like we'll only do defensive _theory_ all year! And that fucking _speech_ last night, that was disgusting!" Snape nodded.

"I want you to use her to practice your Occlumency." Harry looked at him, confused.

"She upsets you. It's a perfect opportunity to work on hiding your emotions, and I want you to use it."

"But—"

"Mister Potter, how in the world do you expect to keep your composure around the Dark Lord if you cannot handle one _measly_ Ministry spy?" He had a point—Harry had to give him that.

"Okay, yeah. That makes sense. I'll try." He was still furious, and he agreed more to get rid of the conversation than anything else.

"You had best do better than _try_, Potter. I will know if you do not put all your effort into it."

"Yes, sir." Harry glared resentfully at his Professor.

"Very good. Dueling. Lets begin."

* * *

Three weeks into the semester, Severus Snape was stalking down the halls towards his dungeon. The day had taken a long an arduous toll on him. His classes had been uneventful and irritating, as usual. The Headmaster had invited him to tea, and they'd discussed Potters progress—or lack thereof, and the staff meeting had gone about as he'd expected. Severus Snape did not have _good_ days, but this day had been worse than normal, for the night prior he had been summoned to the third Death Eater meeting since the Dark Lords return. The meeting had not differed extremely from normal meetings, but when he had returned around dawn he had been thoroughly exhausted from his efforts, and had endured the tedium of a normal day with scare-concealed contempt.

As he passed through the courtyard he saw two boys off a side hall, in the midst of what one might think was a wrestling match. Grim satisfaction with the prospect of a telling-off filled his mind as he turned and stalked towards the two, only realizing as he came upon them that the boys were _not_ wrestling.

"You two!" He snapped, looming over them imposingly. The boy split apart hastily and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Why Potter, have you gotten so bored with your group of fangirls that you're now seeking some fan_boys_?" Harry gulped and looked at the other boy—Marlin of Ravenclaw.

"Sir, we were just—" Marlin tried to defend, but his words faltered under the mans singing glare.

"I could see perfectly well _exactly_ what you were up to. Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention Saturday, Potter!" Realizing that his own house might be in the clear, Marlin fled. Harrys face turned redder than it already was in anger.

"What are you taking points away for! Why do I have a detention! I wasn't doing anything wrong!" Snape rose his brow as Harry yelled at him. _Potter has guts_, he thought to himself, not without disdain. _But sometimes, that's about all he's got. _

"Public display of affection, Potter. And of course…for disturbing my thoughts." He smirked nastily.

"Of course! You're a real prick, you know that!"

"Twenty points."

"My bad! You're a real nasty git, _sir!_" Harry was shouting by this point. He had about had it with Snapes unfairness. Because of his abominably slow progress in their defense lessons, Snape had become nastier—nastier than he had ever been—taking points off for Harrys appearance, the state of his schoolbooks, and now for snogging.

"Potter, you had best get out of my sight right _now_, or I will take _all_ your house points and be sure to schedule a detention for _every_ Quidditch game you have for the rest of the _year_." Harry spluttered angrily, but he knew Snape was serious so after a second he fled.

Snape smiled with grim satisfaction at the look on Potters face as he continued on towards his quarters.

* * *

"Severus, have you seen Harry today?" Albus asked as the two men took to a late supper in his office.

"No. Why?"

"Well, I must admit I'm rather worried about him. Mirvana has caught him in the halls—not once but twice—with two different girls. I've seen him with a boy…from Hufflepuff, I believe. And the staff is starting to worry about Harrys erratic dating. It can't be healthy or normal, they say, and I agree."

"Humph. I caught him with a Ravenclaw boy, but that's all I've seen."

"This is particularly worrisome because, with your lessons, we are all on high-alert for any abnormal behavior of his."

"Why don't you speak with _him_, headmaster, instead of forcing me to listen about your concern over a hormone-ridden teenager."

"Very astute, Severus, and I shall. However I am more concerned that this seemingly benign behavior could have other, less benign companions. If Harry's sudden interest in many girls—and boys—speaks of an unsound mind, there might be other changes in him, and I'm speaking of this now not to torture you with gossip, but to ask if you've noticed any other changes in Harry. You do see him far more often than most of us." Snape rolled his eyes.

"I haven't noticed any other changes, headmaster, and I assure you that if I had, you would be the first to know. As it is, I'm sure Mister Potters behavioral change has more to do with hormones than trauma."

"Thank you for easing an old mans mind, Severus. Have his erratic hormones been a problem in your lessons?" Snape stiffened.

"No. Why would it?"

"Is there something you would like to discuss with me, Severus?" Snape sighed.

"There was one occurrence when Potter became aroused during one of our lessons, but to my knowledge it hasn't happened since."

"And how was it you noticed it the first time, Severus?" Instead of being offended by the implication, Snape almost snorted.

"It wasn't hard to miss," Snape grumbled.

"I see. Well please keep in mind that any sexual or romantic relationship you might have with Mister Potter would be extremely difficult to maintain." Snape splutter as he stood in outrage.

"Albus! That's _more_ than absurd and you well know it! Not only am I his teacher, by I'm twenty years older than him! I'm his greasy git of a potions master!" Albus smiled benignly at the enraged man looming over him.

"Ah, I see your protests center solely on why _you_ might be unfavorable to _Harry_, not the other way around." Snape nearly hit the smiling, twinkling fool.

"Even if I were to entertain such a _repulsive_ notion, Albus, such a relationship would never in a million _years_ work out." Albus looked startled.

"Whyever not?" He asked.

"Because someday Potter is going to get his memory back, and I plan to be far away when that time comes." Albus nodded as though he was seriously contemplating what his potions master had said.

"That's what I'm getting at, Severus. If you were to have a relationship with Harry, it would be incredibly difficult, and I would worry about you immensely."

"This is _absurd!_ I would prefer not to have _any_ relationship with Potter, but as you're forcing me into these lessons, please do not demean me by implying I would act unprofessionally in any way!" Albus looked saddened, now.

"That's not my intention, Severus. You're avoiding the meat of the matter, but as you seem intent on distracting me, I will answer your protests. Harry is not a normal boy, even at fifteen, and I would not be personally opposed to a relationship between you two because I know that you, personally would handle such a matter with the upmost delicacy, and Harry is mature enough to handle such a thing as well. You would obviously have to keep the relationship hidden because it would compromise your job as a spy, and it's also against school—and Ministry—regulations, but know that, in this _special_ case, I give my express permission." Snape was still spluttering, unsure of how to respond.

"Either way, Albus, this is an entirely arbitrary conversation because it _would never happen_." The headmaster simply twinkled.

"I wanted to cover the possibility, Severus. If it _were_ to happen, my dear boy, I urge you to be careful."

"Worried about your golden boy?" Snape spat, still feeling as though he was on trial.

"No, Severus, I'm worried about you."

"Me!" Snape scoffed, "I'm fine Albus. Really, don't trouble yourself."

"Oh but I _do_ trouble myself, very much, over what you have had to do in service to me and to the Order."

"I'm _fine_."

"Right now, perhaps." Snape growled and stalked towards the door.

"Let me know when you're done with your worries, Headmaster. I have enough of my own without listening to yours." And with that he slammed his way out of the office.

Albus Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair. Fawkes chirped a question, and the man smiled.

"Very soon, I believe. Very soon indeed."

* * *

Severus Snape was contemplating again. This time he blamed it on too much scotch, but he knew he couldn't fool himself.

Harry Potter.

Such a different person than he had originally though. The boy was more mature, responsible, and intelligent than he could have thought possible, with James Potters genes. Sure, he was still easy to provoke, easy to rile and quick to anger. He still had the insufferable daring and courage that marked Gryffindor house. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He moodily contemplated the conversation he had had with Albus earlier that night. Where did the man get off? Certainly Snape could concede that he no longer hated Potter. Sometimes he was even proud of the brat. But that didn't mean he _liked_ the boy. More often than not these days Snape found himself grinding his teeth in frustration over Potters abysmal displays in their lessons. _This_ was supposed to be the boy to defeat the Dark Lord? He had a hard time believing it. Potter was too weak in so many ways, too vulnerable. He couldn't multitask at Occlumency/Legilimency as well as exchange jinx and hexes. He couldn't control his emotions when severely provoked, most of the time. Snape had been increasingly cruel to Potter as his own despair and bitterness set in, punishing the boy at every turn for not being good enough, for being the long-awaited hero—and a failure.

And even if Snape did find the boy attractive, even if he was capable of admitting such a thing—grudgingly, under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol, and only to himself—nothing would come of it. Potter had his pick of _any_ student at the school, and there was simply no way he would ever be interested in his—what had he called it?—nasty git of a potions master.

Not to mention the as-yet-forgotten memories. When Potter remembered what Snape had done to him…

Not even that, but the fact that _Snape_ remembered. How in the world would he ever be able to pull of a functioning relationship when sometimes all he saw, when he looked in those green eyes, was the graveyard, and the subsequent events therein? Absolutely absurd.

And what more; he was older than the boy, _and_ his Professor. No matter what Dumbledore said to the contrary, there were rules to follow, restrictions to observe—

_Excuses_

Shut up, _Rules_ against such things.

_You shoved him against a wall._

Fuck off.

_He liked it._

He's a teenager, they get aroused at everything. Shove off.

_He said you were the center of his nightmares, and _then_ he got hard._

That doesn't even make sense.

_Exactly._

SHUT UP! What had Albus said? _Four_ different people—two boys and two girls—in four weeks! Potter doesn't lack for company, and he's not about to come searching for it here!

* * *

Two months into the year, Harry and Hermione sat down in the room of requirement—where they were assured privacy—and began to talk. Hermione had been told about the room by Draco, and now Harry was let in on the secret as they made themselves comfortable around a setting of light tea—courtesy of the house elves.

"So how's the Quest for Attraction coming?" Hermione asked, since it was most obviously the foremost thing in Harrys mind (Not to mention every other students). Harry groaned and leaned back into some cushions, hiding his eyes with one hand.

"It's horrible, Hermione! I could start a queue and snog and grope every student here and feel next to nothing! The only thing I've managed to determine is that I like boys. Other than that…" Hermione took his other hand sympathetically.

"Still Professor Snape, huh?"

"Yes." Harry made a disgusted gesture. "Even when he's insulting me and tearing me down I'm _still_ attracted to the prick. He's got this…this…"

"Major aura of power? Incredibly penetrating black eyes? Amazing amounts of intelligence, cunning, and subtlety?" Harry looked startled, and Hermione smiled knowingly. "I can see _why_ you're attracted to him, Harry. I just don't want you to get hurt." Harry snorted.

"Fat chance. I'm not in _love_ with the bastard. I just…want him."Hermione nodded sadly.

"I know. And he's incredibly unapproachable. Even if you tried he'd probably curse you into next week—or worse, cancel your lessons."

"Your priorities still need some work." Harry sighed and sat up, taking a biscuit. "But you're right. I'll just have to deal with it and hope it goes away. And practice my Occlumency. I can't imagine what would be worse—me telling him, or him finding out on his own." Hermione snorted.

"I'd prefer neither, were I you. "

"Yeah. God it was _so_ embarrassing when he caught me with Marlin. I nearly blushed my ears off, I swear. I was hoping so bad that he wasn't reading my thoughts right then and there—because if he had, it would have been cake to see I was thinking about him in a _very_ inappropriate way. I nearly died from happiness when he seemed more interested in taking points and assigning a detention than anything else, but I had to pretend to be _angry_ with him so he wouldn't get suspicious."

"Sounds like an incredibly complex dynamic," Hermione teased, alluding to Harrys perchance for complexity. Harry flicked a crumb at her.

"Shut up, 'Mione."

"You love me." She teased.

"I do."Harry sighed again. No matter what he had said about ignoring his attraction and hoping it disappeared, saying was a long ways off from doing.

* * *

Snape and Harry were in the midst of a duel, Snape on the offensive. "Try harder, Potter! Is that all you've got? Your mangy dogfather can do better than that!" Harry's face turned crimson as he frantically deflected spell after spell, just barely keeping pace with Snape.

"Just as I'd always suspected—the hero of the wizarding world can't seem to duel any better than Longbottom!" Harry knew he had to concentrate solely on the duel and not allow himself to be riled by Snape, but it was growing increasingly harder to do. Snape was even angrier today than usual, attacking Harry with a viciousness that had the boy convinced his attack was deadly serious.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Snape sent Harrys wand flying and advanced on the boy in measured steps. Harry backed up as quickly as he could, finding himself only a foot away from the unforgiving wall.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted desperately, foolishly, knowing it was no use without his wand. That's why, when Snapes wand instantly flew out of his hand and across the room, Harry could only gape.

Snape stared at the discarded wand for a second before he turned slowly in Harry's direction.

"_Very_ good Potter," his voice was low and smooth, no trace of sarcasm or mockery in his tone. The words were almost a dark purr, and Harry found himself more scared, more intimidated than if the comment had been mocking or abrasive.

"Your first wandless magic. Oh _very_ good, Potter." _His voice sounds so…sensual!_ Harry thought wildly as he stared as his Professors unreadable face. Those dark eyes glinted and Harry felt a shiver run through him—both at what he'd just accomplished and the intensity of his professor's gaze and demeanor.

"Control yourself, Potter." His voice was still a rich drawl, but now Snape sounded almost…amused? "We wouldn't want anyone to think you fancied your potions master, would we?" Snape was making his way—slowly—to the bar, where he poured himself—and only himself—a drink.

Oh _gods_ Harry thought, disoriented. He read my—he saw—_fuck!_ Snape chuckled darkly. At that, Harry made a split, rash decision.

"Yeah, but no one would ever guess—you know, with my recent activities." Harry moved around the couch so he could sit in the armchair, directly behind Snape, forcing the man to turn around and lean almost languidly against the bar with his scotch in his free hand. The mans eyes narrowed.

"Indeed."

"Would you like to know why I decided to randomly date and snog four different people in four weeks?" Snape snorted.

"Not in the least, Potter. Your hormones—while bothersome—do not interest me for a second." Harry wasn't deterred.

"It actually had very little to do with hormones, and much more to do with logical reasoning than you might believe." Snape smirked at him.

"Just how do you suppose to defend any of your recent activities as _reasonable?"_

"Well, over the summer, I started having these nightmares." Snape stiffened at the word, and Harry almost smirked. What Harry did not know was that Snape had attributed the boys comment—that Snape figured solely in Harrys nightmares—to the fact that, somewhere in his brain Harry remembered the true events that had taken place in the graveyard, and that his subconscious was viciously playing back the memories as nightmares. But before Snape could say anything, Harry continued.

"Only, they weren't really nightmares. I was deluding myself. I didn't _want_ to be attracted to you—you're nasty and mean and a right git—but I was. After I admitted to myself that I respected you, even admired you, it was easier to _deal _with you, sure. After so many lessons with such harsh content, it was even easy to _like_ you—sometimes. I was only honest with myself about being attracted to you near the end of the summer, though. And my reason told me that there were three possible explanations." Snape currently didn't have the capacity to articulate a response, so he remained impassive and silent.

"The three reasons were this; one, I was simply attracted to you, nothing complicated about it. I like how you smell, the way you speak, how your voice sounds, the way you look and walk, etc. Two; I had formed a not-uncommon fixation on my teacher—a mentor, someone I spent a lot of time with, focusing my teenage hormones on the prominent figure of my—admirably few—intimate acquaintances. Now while you and I aren't exactly intimate, we both know a lot more about each other than almost anyone knows about us. So two seemed likely. Three was that, due to my traumatic experiences with my uncle, I had formed a self-destructive attachment to a man who was cruel—sometimes even brutal—and violent."

Snape wasn't sure he believed his ears. Potter was being rational—_very _rational. And he was talking about his attraction to Snape in a candid, nerves-free manner. The third explanation made him wince internally as Harry outlined it.

_If only you knew_, he thought.

"The third option didn't compute with what I think and feel about you. I'm very nearly confident that you _don't_ want to hurt me—that you in fact, protect me. Respecting you and admiring you doesn't fit the third option, either. Which left the first two. So I knew that, to figure out if I was just…simply attracted to you—option one—then I needed to date other people and have some amount of sexual interaction with them. If my attraction didn't dissipate, I would know it's the first one." The two stood and sat in silence for several long minutes.

"Do you want to know my conclusions?" Harry asked, this time hesitant. Sometime during Harry's speech, Snape had set down his glass of scotch. Now, before Harry could blink the man reached over and grabbed him by his shirtfront, whirling him around so that the boy was pressed between the high rail of the bar and himself.

"You don't know the first thing about me, _Potter_." He hissed, his face a mere two inches from Harrys own. Harry ignored the statement entirely, grabbing the older mans hips hard and pulling him closer.

"The answer was yess." He hissed back, just as viciously, his eyes and face a mask of lust and something else—something fierce. Snape pushed back from him, putting distance between himself and the fierce boy in front of him.

"Get out, Potter." This time Harry set himself firmly, and almost crossed his arms before he realized he might look pouty. His chin thrust out stubbornly as he responded.

"No."

"Get the _fuck_ out, Potter." The amount of malice in his voice sent a tremor of fear through Harry, but he didn't falter.

"Why?"

"Because I want you _out_, you insolent boy!"

"No."  
"Do I need to call for the Headmaster?" Snape expected the threat to send the boy running, but he didn't move.

"I already talked to him. He twinkled and clapped his hands and then told me he'd make a personal exception to the rules in this instance." Snape was momentarily shell-shocked. The boy had really meant it—he had thought this out thoroughly and anticipated some of the possible problems—and nullified them.

"Potter what in the world makes you think I would _ever_ want a relationship with _you?_" Harry stumbled now, for the first time in unknown territory. Snape was pleased to see him finally off-balance, but before he could press the issue, Harry responded.

"You—before, when you threw me against that wall, and I got hard, you—you did too." It wasn't the most eloquent or self-assured answer, but it was definitely on-target. Before Snape could respond, Harry continued. "And I know _I'm_ just a randy teenage boy, but you're older, you're a master at self-control, and I can't see that happening unless you were attracted to me, too." Snape scrambled for an acceptable response.

"Potter, while teenagers get erections frequently without cause, the scene you're alluding to would have easily given _anyone_ cause." Harry was undeterred because he had just thought of something else.

"I don't believe you. The first thing you said to me after I told you all of that was 'you don't know me', and you drew me _closer, _rather than shoving me out of the room and telling me to not press my randy teenage hormones on you, or something like that. You're using my fear of rejection against me in order to keep me from your _real_ issue. Okay, so 'I don't know you.' Maybe I _want_ to." This time he crossed his arms. Stubborn child!

Snape was impressed in spite of himself. If Harry had put this much concentration and energy into lessons, they would surely have made progress by leaps and bounds. More than impressed, though, Snape was furious at the boy—furious he was being so stubborn, argumentative, telling Snape he didn't _believe_ him, his complete and utter lack of disrespect!

Snape grabbed Harry once more by his shirtfront and drew him up against his own body, snarling.

"You want to _know_ me, Harry? You want to know what it would be like to _be_ with me? To have me _touch_ you?" His voice was a very low growl, and Harry shivered.

"Yes," he answered quietly, simply, unable to say more and completely unaware of the churning emotions inside his professor.

Rage, shame, and pain attacked Snape from every angle, his internal voices berating and congratulating him for what he was about to do. He moved his moth close to Harrys ear and whispered, "be careful what you wish for, Harry," in the same silken tone that he had used towards Lucius Malfoy, in the very first memory the two had shared.

Before Harry could understand what that betokened, he was immersed in an all-too-familiar memory; the graveyard.


	13. Chapter 12: By Starlight

A/N: I know you're all eager to get to this chapter, but since you LOVE me for updating so quickly after that cliffy, please read this—especially if you're an old hand with my writing.

First of all, I would like to thank these people for their frequent and timely reviews—you have all really kept me going here: Susanne023, melissaIvory, LittleMrsAdams, Murgy31, Jisa, perol, Serpent91, ForetInterdite, CaptainOblivious1161, the dark euphie, rnl1993, SnowFireFlyRain.

Next—I've been listening to the new Breaking Benjamin album, Dear Agony, and I'm wondering if I should write more songfics for it. I covered Phobia, We Are Not Alone, and Saturate in my Breaking Benjamin series, and I've been getting some ideas listening to the new album. My only problem is that the stories tend to run together—seem too numerous, to me. So anyone who has read the breaking Benjamin series I did, please give me your thoughts on my writing a new album. For those of you who have not read any of my Breaking Benjamin series, consider the following; "Days go on forever, but I have not left your side. We can chase the dark together, if you go, then so will I."(Anthem of the Angels, Dear Agony, Breaking Benjamin) and think about it snarry-fied, then let me know what you think.

Lastly (I know this is a long authors note, but please bear with) I want to express some exasperation. If any of you have encountered the same thing I rant about here, and have found it annoying, let me know so I feel better. People who leave reviews on a story(especially oneshots) saying 'I can't wait to read more of your stories', and then NEVER REVIEW AGAIN, on ANY story, to tell you how they found the others. I have _67_ stories, and this has happened to me on numerous occasions. I want to know what you _thought_ after reading more than one story, damnit. Do I have a distinct theme in most things? Did you find parallels, were some things drastically different, did you like one story, and not another, and why? GOSH this happens to me a LOT and I want to KNOW! I am burning with curiosity! Arg!

Anyway, thanks for reading this long review. In return, I give you a quick update to a cliffy—a long and satisfying chapter, a change of pace, and a marked change of depth.

PS: I was just fixing my computer—it breaks a lot—and I had to move all my music files to my external. Some of them were already on there, so not EVERY song was gone from iTunes. I clicked on Invisible, by Otep, and it wouldn't play. My lip trembled and I whimpered; "otep?" at my computer. "You deleted Otep?" Otep is metal, so that's why it's funny.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Starlight

Harry viewed himself through Snapes eyes as Voldemort took Harrys blood and chanted _blood of the enemy, unwillingly given_. But Snape hadn't been there, it had been Crouch…Harrys disoriented mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

Suddenly, the real memory—_Harry's _memory—slammed back into his consciousness with so much force that it entrapped both Harry and Snape with it's intensity. Even had either of them wanted to pull out from it, they were unable to—trapped in the unfolding scene.

_Snape, moving towards him. Harry, screaming at him, cursing him, spitting on him as his hand fell around Harry's neck. Words were being said above his head—words between Snape and Voldemort—but Harry was focusing all his attention on struggling to get free. _

_As Snapes hand tightened around his neck and his airflow became restricted, then cut off altogether, Harry was forced to stop struggling. His head was tilted back, towards the sky, and it seemed to him as though the tiny pinpricks of stars in the night sky—which had always seemed to him to be warm—now felt cold. Unfeeling and as indomitable as the elements, they watched impassively as he felt himself grow weak, faint. He felt distantly that someone—Snape, was feeling for his belt, loosening it, shoving down his pants._

Oh gods, no!_ He thought. _Not again, no, _please!_

_He closed his eyes as tears leaked from under his lids and the darkness swirled around him. _No…

_After what seemed an eternity, the pressure on his neck was released and he was thrown into a lung-wracking coughing fit. He strained to regain full coherency, and found it when he followed his thread of perfect, absolute loathing to the voice that was now speaking._

"_What do you will, Master?" Harrys pants were down, but not his boxers. His throat was sore and raw, his neck likely bruising as he gulped in breath after breath of air. His legs had been untied from the stone, but his arms were still held securely, leaving him nothing to do but kick out. And he did._

"_Whatever you please, Severus. You know how I love to see you…desecrate someone. Our little Harry here will be the peak of your achievements, I can already see it."_

"_As you wish, master." Snapes voice seemed almost detached. There was a certain amount of supplication, willingness to obey, eagerness, and awe, sure. But it seemed to Harry that there was no more and no less of those things than any other Death Eater—no more than necessary._

_Harry's thoughts were never completed, for Snape started in on him in earnest._

_Something sharp cut at him in a thousand ways. He was bound immobile by an unknown spell—something that allowed him to be moved, but unable to move himself. The Crutiatus was employed at one point, but only briefly. He was almost comfortable with the pain—almost able to reconcile himself—when something worse happened. He felt himself moving of his own accord, felt the unflinching command of the Imperius; _kneel_. His wrist bonds had been cut at some point, and he knelt obediently. Moody had never prepared him for this kind of pressure, this _power_. Snapes will was immobile, absolutely and irrefutably above question. The power residing in this one man was such that Harry felt shivers of fear and—yes, arousal as well. He knelt._

"_Suck me off," the man had spoken this command out loud as well as mentally, and Harry had no choice but to obey. What was worse, he felt his own body responding to the intense humiliation, the smell and taste of the man—of Snape. As he continued to follow the command, he felt himself growing harder and harder until he was fully erect. Teas of shame leaked from his eyes and he felt Voldemort's stare—straight through to his core._

_When Snape came, another command did as well. "Swallow." Harry winced and did as ordered, more tears streaming down his wet face. _

"_My dear Severus…it looks as if the boy is _aroused._" There was surprise in the voice, but predominant was malicious satisfaction._

"_Indeed, Master."Snape seemed to know what the other one wanted. He shoved Harrys back against the stone, running his hands down his torso until he was touching the boys need with skillful hands. Harry wept more and began to whimper. As he began to climax, the hands moved away and he let out an unwilling groan of frustration._

"_Do you want to come for me, Harry?" The voice positively purred in his ear, and Harry was unable to suppress a moan. "You have to tell me what you want, Harry." And with abject horror, shame, and overriding revulsion, Harry heard himself whisper "Please—yes." And then the hands were back, soon bringing him to orgasm. _

_As Harry panted, recuperated, and attempted to get his tears under control, Snape was turned towards Voldemort, listening to the man praise his work. _

"_My dear Severus, I have not had such pleasure in a very long time."_

"_Thank you, Master."_

"_Thank you, my loyal servant." He inclined his head at Snape, who moved out of the way and off to the side—joining the ring of Death Eaters. "Now, who has the boys wand? He will duel me before he dies." Someone came forward with Harrys wand, and Harry finished buckling his belt with trembling fingers._

Suddenly, both Harry and Snape were released from the memory. All too soon, they were left facing one another in Snapes warm and safe living-room, panting. Harry gave a gasp before he dropped to the floor, curled into a ball, and began to shake and cry. Without missing a beat Severus flooed the headmaster, who arrived within moments. Observing Harry's nearly catatonic state, Albus asked the other man what had happened, a great urgency in his voice. Snape was close to losing control of his emotions. To see the entire scene recreated in Harrys point of view had been staggering. He had not thought he could ever feel more shame and self-loathing than he had that night, but now he did. His voice almost shook as he told the headmaster what had transpired, and the older man recognized his unstable condition.

Dumbledore had Harry quickly and easily transported by house elves to a room adjacent to his own office. Almost positive that Harry would fall into a sudden and deep sleep after the unnatural way he had been forced to remember what he had forgotten, he guided Severus to his own couch and ordered them both tea.

"Tell me what happened, Severus," the headmaster said gently. Snape took a steadying breath, knowing that this time, he needed to be honest.

"He…he told me he was attracted to me and wanted a relationship. We fought a verbal battle that I almost lost because he was so stubborn. Then I forced my memory of that night on him, when his own memory broke through and trapped us both." Albus nodded.

"It sounds like your memory triggered his to resurface, and you were both caught in it due to the intensity of the…epiphany." Snape nodded—he had already deduced as much.

"I'm so sorry you had to witness that, my dear boy." Albus said softly, reaching for Snapes hand. The other man flinched and snatched his hand back, standing and looming over the headmaster.

"Don't you _fucking_ say sorry to me! Go comfort your golden boy and leave me the hell alone!" Albus could see his potions master was close to snapping and stood as well, shooting the other man a look with a world of sorrow in his clear blue eyes.

"I will go see to Harry, but I am worried about you. The toll this takes on you is unhealthy, and I am minded to forbid you from going to the next meeting." He raised his hands to quell the other mans protests. "I will not do so if you promise me something."

"What," Snape snarled, fed up with everything—himself, this man, this world.

"When Harry comes to see you and wants to talk to you, you'll allow him."

"Albus, there is no possible way that Harr—" he stopped himself before he could say the cursed boys first name, but the headmaster was already twinkling.

"He will, and you will see him. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Then goodnight my dear Severus, and remember that my door is always open." With that Albus Dumbledore left, sorrow and pain a weight on his shoulders that made him feel no taller than a gnome.

* * *

Christmas holidays were almost over. Harry had spent the last week of school and most of the holidays in Dumbledores office and adjacent room, and now he sat on the astronomy tower, looking at the stars. The night was crisp and cool but not unbearably cold, and Harry wore only an oversized tee shirt and jeans as he sat, knees up, on the towers cold stones.

His weeks with Dumbledore had been informative. He had seen the older mans memories, had spent hours viewing them and re-viewing them in the penseive. He had watched as Snape and Dumbledore planned for Snape to take Harry to Voldemort.

"_You understand, headmaster, what I may be forced to do to Potter." Snape had sounded almost desperate, trying to change the course of inevitable events._

"_I know, Severus. If you do not want to do this, say so now." Albus had never forced anyone in his life—he didn't need to. His kindness was its own poisoning coercion. Snape had stopped pacing, hung his head._

"_I'll do it."_

"_Then we need to plan on erasing Harry's memory."_

_The scene outside of the hospital wing—Snapes irritation concealed concern._

_How Snape had been drunk every night for weeks afterwards._

_How Albus had seen Snapes changing regard for Harry, as well as his growing fear._

_How Snape had reacted when Albus expressed concern for him after Harry had regained his memory. _

_How Albus had seen compassion in Snape for the first time in years when the man looked at Harry._

All of these things swirled around in Harrys mind, along with the unpleasant memory itself. He was _angry_. That was his predominant emotion. He thought back to his rage in the headmasters office—how he had broken things and screamed, accusing the headmaster of using him, sometimes even begging to be told why the older man had betrayed him. His anger was as deep as his shame, as deep as his revulsion, and deeper. He felt sickened with himself for having gotten aroused against his will, but he knew that would pass after his reason was given enough time to work on his emotions—the same thing had happened to him before, after all. He would weather this, too.

He didn't know how he felt now, about Snape. He wanted to hate him blindly for what the man had done to him, but after the past three weeks he knew nothing was ever so simple. Currently he felt rising tides of hurt, betrayal, attraction, and anger. He wondered if the pain would ever truly go away. The fact that he had seen the lost memory _after_ he had accepted his own regard for Snape made it all the more worse. He hadn't really been betrayed in the graveyard—Snape and Harry had hated one another at the time. He only felt betrayed because he didn't know then—he knew now.

Yet another part of him was profoundly grateful to Snape for showing him the memory as a final explanation as to why they could not have a relationship. Honesty wasn't the only thing Harry appreciated. He could see clearly now that Snape had thrown the memory at him in fear. Fear of having a relationship destroyed by words unspoken, memories forgotten. Fear of what a relationship would mean for himself, the only one who remembered everything. More than anything it had been fear for what would happen to Harry if they'd started a relationship and the memory had come back.

That fear, more than anything else, convinced Harry that Snape cared for him. Maybe he hadn't in the beginning, and maybe it was still guarded, still grudging, but it was there. More surprising than anything else was that Harry felt the same. He still cared for Snape. In fact, despite his own pain, he felt overwhelming empathy for what the other man had been forced to go through.

He rose, ready to make his way to the dungeons for what might be the last time. Dumbledore had told him Snape had agreed to talk to him if he wished it—likely the older man doubted very much that Harry would ever wish it—and he made his way there now in order to do just that.

When he arrived at the familiar door he hesitated, unsure of what he would find. The man had not been to teach his classes after that night, and Dumbledore hesitantly admitted that Snape had not been eating—had in fact been drinking himself into a swoon for weeks. Steeling himself, he knocked, and when a response was not forthcoming, he forced entrance.

Snape was sprawled on the couch. It took Harry a moment to adjust to the scene, because it was so different from normal. Papers and bottles littered the floor. A fire was roaring, but that was the only light, and shadows crept into the corners of the room like malignant nightmares. Snape was on the couch, apparently dozing, his bottle of scotch precariously held on his stomach with a lax hand. His clothes were rumpled, and instead of his normal stuffy attire he wore only a white button-up shirt with black trousers. Strangely, his feet were still shod with black, immaculate shoes.

Harry took several more moments to asses the chaos before he walked over to the professor, knelt at his side, and carefully removed the bottle of scotch. Unsure of what to do next, he sat in the armchair adjacent to the couch and waited.

He had been lost in his own thoughts for more than three hours when Snape suddenly started awake, screaming.

"NO!" He bellowed, cutting off his own scream as he thrashed and fought an invisible enemy. Harry carefully interfered, kneeling once again beside the couch and making shushing sounds, putting his hands on the other mans shoulders to restrain him. Finally Snape calmed, never waking up enough to realize that it was Harry who calmed him.

When his professors breathing had evened out, Harry sat with his back against the couch and feet stretched out under the table, taking one of Snapes hands in his own and placing it on his chest with his left hand resting lightly over it. Cocking his head back against the couch so that it rested comfortable against the mans hip, Harry closed his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages.

* * *

"Potter!" A loud voice woke him from the first full rest he had gotten since that night, three weeks ago.

"Hnug?" He voiced incoherently, catching himself as he almost fell off the couch. Snape was standing over him, fully dressed in his usual attire, looking almost normal apart from the dark circles under his eyes. Harry slowly looked around and saw that the room had been cleaned to its normal perfection, and he briefly wondered if he had dreamed the previous night.

"How long was I asleep? What time is it?" he sat up, feeling less vulnerable in a seated position.

"Finally! Coherency. It's after _noon_, Potter." Snape did not seem amused.

"Well, it _was_ the first time I've slept soundly in _weeks_," Harry shot back, immediately regretting it as a shadow crossed the other mans eyes.

"Be that as it may, allowing you to sleep on my couch isn't something I consented to when we began these lessons." Oh, so he was going to act like nothing had happened, was he? Harry would see about that.

"As I recall, I fell asleep on the floor, thanks. And Dumbledore said you promised to speak to me." Snape ignored the first part.

"I didn't realize at the time you'd come calling in the middle of the night, Potter, or without supervision. If I had, I would have set limitations."

"Oh, so I need supervision to be here now, do I?" Harry was allowing his anger at being used to direct the conversation, and he desperately tried to get hold of his temper.

"Don't you think it wise?" Snapes voice was low, almost threatening, which made Harry feel rebellious.

"Nope, not at all. Now are you going to loom, or talk to me?" His chin was jutting out stubbornly again. Snape frowned at him, which once might have been terrifying to Harry, but was now only satisfying.

"Sit down, please? This is awkward." Harry motioned to the mere foot of space between the standing man and himself. Snape evidently took it differently than he had meant it, because he quickly moved more than ten paces away, still standing.

"That's not what I meant, damnit! Just—sit down, please. Or…" Harry groped for something that might satisfy pride on both ends. "Or proper decorum would oblige me to stand, and to be honest it's a bit beyond me right now, standing is." The excuse was lousy, as excuses go, but it also had the undeniable ring of truth—a ring that crossed eras of human existence. Even old rules that society commonly shunned in this time period were given their due when voiced. Snape took a seat, perching near the edge of the couch, his body rigid, and Harry sighed in relief.

"I know you don't want to talk about what happened, but _I_ need to." Snape gave a brusque nod, and Harry took a deep breath.

"The first thing is…I don't hate you and I'm not angry with you. I understand why…things happened the way they did. Stupidly, I feel hurt and betrayed, but I know that that's a natural reaction, and it will pass. I feel shame and revulsion, directed solely at myself, which I also know will pass. I know that because of my prior…experiences." Snapes face seemed to become more of a mask as he went on, and Harry saved the most important part for last. "Secondly, I'm still attracted to you. It will take time for me to divide that attraction from my self-loathing, but it's there."  
"The last thing…Severus," the man started as if he'd been smacked, and finally looked Harry in the face. "The last, most important thing, is that I'm _angry_. Strangely, I'm not angry at you, but at Dumbledore. I feel used." Snape turned his face away from Harry once more, still not uttering a word.

"I understand that, under the circumstances, Dumbledore made the best choice he thought he could possibly make. But consider for a moment if we had all talked about it first. I would have refused—at the time I was too naïve to understand the possible necessity. We would have waited. I would have had these lessons with you, and I would have been able to understand such necessity. Later, when I was older and better prepared, we _three_ could have taken the steps to hand me to Vol—to the Dark Lord, with you beside me to make sure we _both_ got out alive. If I had gone into that situation _knowingly_, Severus, if I had done it _now_, neither of us would be handling the same amount of emotions that we are now." Snape was almost startled at that outline—at the very suggestion of including Harry in such a plan. Certainly, over the past year he had seen Harry less as a pawn and more of a human being, but he had never realized how _willing_ the boy might be to do what had to be done.

"Carry that theory one step further, Severus, and consider what would have happened if you and I had been allowed the time to form a relationship. If we had already, _willingly_ crossed the boundaries we were forced to cross that night at the graveyard. If we were comfortable with each other in a sexual way, could you imagine how less…devastating a _posed_ rape would be?" At the word 'rape', Snape flinched, but made no other indication that he'd heard.

"Because I've had time to contemplate alternative flows of time, and because I've _liked_ what I've seen in the world of what-might-have-been, I want you to promise me something." Snape didn't move, didn't turn.

"Severus, please look at me." Harry's voice was calm, almost gentle, and Snape unwillingly turned towards Harry. The boys eyes were haunted, but steady. One night of full rest hadn't been able to clear the circles under his eyes, but looking at his firmly-set face Snape was nearly convinced that Harry would recover.

"First of all, in the event that I am ever at the hands of the Dark Lord again, and you are forced to do something similar to last time, I give you my full consent to do whatever you need to do to me, and I will not hold it against you." Snapes eyes belied shock, even revulsion, but otherwise he did not move. "Secondly, I want you to promise me that if you are ever inclined or coerced to do anything—in the service of Dumbledore _or_ the Dark lord—anything that involves me, I want you to promise to talk to me about it. Even if Dumbledore wants to again keep some things from me—about me!—in the future, I want _you_ to promise me you'll tell me." Snape felt an almost overwhelming surge of guilt. He might not have used Harry directly, but he had certainly taken part in it.

"I promise that if it is within my power to do so, I will discuss any such thing with you first."He held Harrys gaze steadily, making sure the boy understood he was sincere. Not that Harry could ever _trust_ Snape again, but he supposed that the gesture wouldn't hurt. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you." They sat in silence for several minutes, until Harry remembered something else.

"One more thing." Snape almost sighed.

"What, Potter."

"I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me." Snape repeated in a deadpan voice.

"Yes. For being honest with me. I asked you for the truth, and you showed me. Maybe you didn't mean to show me in quite that way, but you did, and I'm grateful. It would have been worse—for both of us—if you'd allowed a relationship to begin before I knew everything, and I am profoundly grateful. I'm also impressed that you had the balls, actually." Snape snorted. Then, as harry seemed to be waiting for more of a response, he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"And the _very_ last thing," Harry said, smiling as Snape sighed in exasperation before quickly turning serious again, "Is that I'm sorry you had to see everything all over again in my point of view. I know neither of us could have done anything to stop it, but I'm sorry nonetheless." Snape almost broke into another rage. He wanted to shout and scream and say that it was _he_ who should be sorry, he who should be apologizing, but he held on to his composure.

"I'm going to leave now, and I think it would be advisable if we ceased our lessons until the summer holidays." Snape nodded.

"But if you don't quit drinking, start eating, and get back to teaching when Christmas break is over, I will come down here every day and ask you—very pathetically—if you would _please _ eat something, for me, and you will do whatever I ask you to if only to get rid of my pathetic whining." Harry could see Snape smirk as he stood to leave, and he felt his own smirk growing.

"Your threats are improving, Potter."His tone was sardonic, yes, and it held a bit of an edge, but he _might_ have been teasing.

"I'll take that as, 'yes sir, right away sir'," Harry said jokingly as he closed the door behind him. This time, Snape didn't even eye the book-end.

* * *

Please review. -passes out-


	14. Chapter 13: Magic

A/N: I was actually stuck for a little bit. I realized I had to give Harry time to heal, but I really didn't want to write FILLER. I Don't like filler, it sucks. Because I was so uncertain on this chapter, I'd really, really really appreciate reviews—more than I normally really really appreciate them. If you look closely, there's an extra 'really' there. :P

Thanks!

Cozy

* * *

Chapter 13: War

Harry spent most of his Christmas Holiday with Dumbledore. Hermione was home with her parents, and Draco and his mother were spending most of the time in a secluded family manner. Thus Harry and Dumbledore passed their time playing exploding snap, working on magical theory and wandless magic, and discussing the coming war. There were other things they discussed—Dumbledore would not allow Harry to brood in silence, and insisted on re-hashing Harrys recent ordeals, how Harry felt, what would come. The sessions were therapeutic and often frustrating, and Harry felt the need to visit the Astronomy tower nearly every night before he fell asleep, comforted by the vastness of the sky and the crisp air.

One night, several days before school started up again, Dumbledore asked Harry to sit with him over some tea. Harry sat down hesitantly, unsure what the man wanted and uneasy about what it could be. Luckily, Dumbledore cut straight to the point.

"Harry, I have to admit that I have kept yet another thing from you."Harry stiffened, worried beyond belief that there was another false memory lurking in his mind. "There is a prophecy made about you, as you well know." Harry nodded. "And that prophecy is also kept on record at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries." Harry nodded again. He hadn't known that, but he still wasn't sure where this was leading.

"As you know, Harry, Severus only reported half of the prophecy to Voldemort that fateful night because he had been caught eavesdropping. It is my belief that Voldemort considers it a fatal error to have acted too soon, and that _now_ he will be doing what he can to get his hands on that prophecy."

"Excuse me sir but…so? Voldemort already wants to kill me. Learning that '_neither must live while the other survives_' will only mean he'll know I'm a threat. I don't think it will make him any _more_ urgent to kill me—he already wants me dead with a rage that makes me shiver to remember." Dumbledore nodded.

"Quite right Harry, but all information is power, and if I'm not mistaken, Voldemort will soon make a more drastic vie for the prophecy than he has already made."

"He's been trying to get at it?"

"Indeed, Harry, he has tried a host of resourceful maneuvers, and several people have come to death, others have been tortured for this information. But I believe that soon he will learn—if he has not learned already—that only the people who are central to a prophecy may remove one from the hall of prophecy. He will not dare reveal his presence if he is not forced to, and that leads me to believe that he will try, in some way, to coerce you into removing it for him."

"I don't see how he could." Harry was frowning in thought.

"I like to think I know the way in which Voldemort thinks, Harry, and if I do say so myself, I've been accurate thus far." Harry nodded in agreement. "Thus I believe he will try to lure you away to the department of mysteries, either by making you _think_ someone you love is in danger or by _actually_ putting someone you love in danger. He will likely try the first option originally—he would like to prove he can outwit you at every turn, especially after fourth year." Harry sat silently, waiting for Dumbledore to continue. The man looked out the window, slowly gathering his thoughts.

"It is my opinion Harry that, with your consent, we should allow him to lure you away. I believe it would be safer to allow him to lure you via false information—safer for your loved ones. Because of that, I believe it would be best if you halted practicing Occlumency for the time being. The direct link between you will be the first thing he'll try, because it is the simplest and fastest." Dumbledore paused again, this time only for a moment before continuing on.  
"What I suggest, Harry, is that you allow Voldemort to believe he's fooled you. You will make your way to the ministry, with Order members shadowing you. You could break the prophecy so it would not be heard, and…" Dumbledore looked pained, so Harry answered for him.

"And it very well might draw Voldemort into the open—especially a pitched battle between the Order and Death Eaters. Even if it doesn't, a battle like that, at the ministry, might convince a lot of people about the truth of his return." Dumbledore nodded, and Harry sighed.

"Thank you for discussing this with me, Headmaster. I think it's a good idea. What do I need to know?"

For the rest of the night, Dumbledore and Harry pored over the building plans for the ministry of magic, cementing their plan. Harrys only condition was that Snape know nothing about it, and Dumbledore agreed that it was wise.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione knocked on the doorframe, frowning.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said wearily. He hadn't gone to the feast, and as it was the first day of lessons Hermione hadn't had the chance to talk to him until now.

"What happened?" She asked, sitting on his bed. At the time, Harry had only told her that he needed time with the headmaster. She had been left in horrible suspense for the last week of classes and then over the holiday, but she had managed to weather it, knowing that he would talk to her when he was ready. The only expression of concern she showed was in her weekly letters; usually light and chatty, they always ended with asking after his health, and in his responses he always ignored the question.

"A lot." Harry said simply, searching for where to begin.

Once most of the story had been told, Hermione held him. He hadn't known how much he had needed such simple comfort, and once in her arms he couldn't stop the tears.

"Oh Harry…" Her voice was broken and soft, and she was near tears herself.

He had begun with his uncles' abuse and moved through the events of the past month from there, explaining how he felt and what he thought. She was supremely glad for his amazing faculties of reason; it made comprehension and coping easier for him than it would have been otherwise. Nonetheless, he still had a ways to go before he could be completely healed. The constant resurfacing of sadomasochistic themes made her begin to wonder if masochism was an affect of his trauma rather than an inborn preference, and she resolved to look the subject up in both muggle and wizarding psychological journals. She would help Harry in any way she could, and researching his trauma was the first place to start.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, pulling out of her arms and giving her a watery smile. "I needed that."

"Of course you did!"Hermione exclaimed. "I wish I could have held you sooner."

"Yeah, me too. But Dumbledore needed to calm me down. I don't think it would have been good to see me then, the state I was in."

"You're probably right," She admitted reluctantly.

"I'm fortunate to have you, Hermione." Harry said, touching her arm. She looked down, definitely about to cry.

"And I you."

* * *

_Thought you might like these—give them a listen. I like how the headmaster is allowing you to stay in your summer room—I wish he'd let me stay in mine! You need to come to dinner, the others are starting to become worried. I see how much you eat at breakfast and lunch—it's a healthy amount—so I don't know why you wont come to dinner, but I think you should. The planner is your belated Christmas present—please use it, OWL's are close! And last—the stone is a hunk of enchanted raw moonstone that I found while on holiday. I wasn't able to find out too much about it, it seems to be a product of some little-known fey creatures. All I was able to learn that the properties have positive, not negative effects, and it only works with the magical signature of a male. Since I can't use it, I figured you might as well have it. I've put it in a leather thong so you can wear it around your neck, but you can do what you like with it._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry smiled at the letter, looking over the top of it at the small gift basket that sat on his desk. It was just like Hermione to worry about OWLs two months away from the exams—that had yet to change. Her casual brush off about the moonstone made him smile as well; positive qualities, and _you might as well have it_. A subtle hint that it may help him with his problems, without showing overt amounts of concern that might alarm him.

He pulled out the moonstone and examined it. The leather thong was wrapped around the stone so it could not fall off, and he noticed nothing different about the stone at first look. But as he held it, he felt a warmth grow between his fingers and recognized the signature of alien magic—magic not like his own. It made him feel uneasy, intrigued, and compelled all at once, and he hesitantly slipped it over his head, trusting Hermiones assurance that it was not dangerous. When he felt nothing else but the warmth on his skin, he decided to examine it more thoroughly later and turned back to the contents of the basket. A magical planner that sang. _That_ would be fun. He rolled his eyes and continued sifting. At the bottom was a small stack of CD's and an old walkman. Intrigued by the muggle things, he took the CD's out and looked at the titles. Nothing he knew of—not that he was very familiar with music.

Taking the walkman and the CDs to his bed he lay down and put one on at random. He took a quick listen of everything, spending more than an hour on all four CDs, and found that he was grinning. The music was angry and angsty by turns, a perfect way to vent his emotions without causing harm. He _loved_ that girl.

* * *

Harry began to spend most of his time reading. He borrowed books from the library and Dumbledore, memorizing as many charms and spells as possible. He read books on wizarding law, martial histories of both the muggle and wizarding world, obscure books about the strangest magical theories, wandless magic, and magical entities. Hermione knew the restorative and healing powers of books, and joined him often. She had devised a sound-enhancing spell that allowed them to listen to the walkman as though it had speakers, and they spend many evening and late nights reading together in his room, listening to music. She had added several CDs to Harry's collection since her first gift, containing acoustic, classical, and other symphonic pieces.

When they weren't reading, they were practicing. Harry might have suspended his lessons with Snape for the time being, but that did not mean he had quit his lessons. By teaching Hermione to duel and block her mind with rudimentary Occlumency, he found that beyond keeping his skill in shape, he was _growing_ in his skill. Teaching a girl as bright as Hermione led him to learn more than he knew at the start, and they spend many evenings practicing together, learning together. They also practiced the new spells they memorized.

In most subjects they were well and equally matched. The only thing Harry could do that Hermione could not was wandless magic. After his first wandless magic with Snape he had looked into the matter and found that wandless magic was actually the original form of magic for humans. Two hundred years after the Ministry of Magic was created, a law passed prohibiting wandless magic because it made witches and wizards more difficult to control, the laws more difficult to enforce, magic more difficult to regulate. The law was passed 500 years ago, and subsequent generations of wizards and witches eventually forgot that magic could be done wandlessly, forgot that wands were in fact an imposition between themselves and their inherent magical ability.

What's more, the imposition of wands on witches and wizards had a side effect no one had realized until too late. Before the Ministry had prohibited wandless magic, wands had been used by people who, without the wands, would have no magically expressive ability at all. These people were the historical equivalent of modern-day squibs; people looked down on and pitied these people who were considered to be less than a true witch or wizard because of their handicap. Those historical witches and wizards who used wands had been called Half-ways, because they were only half as powerful as a true witch or wizard. Harry was fascinated to find that the amount of magic within a witch or wizard varied from person to person, that magic was not constant. Back then, the hierarchy of the wizarding world was determined by the amount of magic one held within them, not by political standing.

Wands would enhance and amplify the magic of a half-way, but not a full witch or wizard. Harry read with fascination about the three parts of a magical ability. The first part was the magic itself; inherent power. The second was the conduit, a valve of sorts that allowed the magic to flow outward. The last part, the most essential part, was the mental ability to control magic. Most witches and wizards, both historically and in modern times were born with all three. In some cases, such as the historical half-ways, there were witches and wizards born without a conduit. A wand would act as a conduit for those born without, but in those with all three magical sub-parts—full witches and wizards—it acted as a block, halving the witch or wizards power. In even rarer cases—perhaps two or three throughout the history of magic—a person was born without the mental capability. This manifested with out-of-control magical outbursts, usually so violent that the witch or wizard had to be sedated. 100 years before the imposition of wands, the Ministry had passed a law that ordered witches or wizards born without mental capability to be killed—culled from the stock of the wizarding race.

Conduit-less wizards always had less ability than full wizards, without fail. As though their ability to _use_ magic deteriorated the amount of power they had—or perhaps, the other way around?—half-ways, even with wands, could never hope to equal a full wizard. Squibs in modern times were born with mental capability, a small seed of inherent ability, and no conduit. So while they were accepted as a part of the wizarding world, they would never be full wizards.

After the imposition of wands, subsequent generations began to _lose_ the magical conduit; it was being bred out from the race of wizards by disuse. Now, most witches and wizards were born without conduits and could not perform wandless magic if they tried. The loss of a conduit affected the amount of inborn magical ability, and the power became weaker and weaker with every generation of wizards. Harry read in horror that, unless those with all three sub-parts of magical necessity were to breed and disdain the use of wands, the wizarding population at large would eventually deteriorate into mythology.

Because wandless magic was prohibited but untraceable, Harry was determined to learn to use it effortlessly—determined to make using a wand feel awkward. Beyond that, he felt that as someone born with all three sub-parts, he would be going against nature to _not_ use all three—to throw a wand aside disdainfully unless absolutely necessary.

Day by day he used wandless magic more and more, and day by day his ability grew, his power enhanced.

The fact that wandless magic was the original use of magic for witches and wizards made Hermione grind her teeth in frustration and despair, for she wanted the same connection to her past as Harry had found, but she was increasingly sure that she had been born without a conduit. One day while Harry and she were dueling, she suddenly burst into tears.

Alarmed, Harry had tried to comfort her has best he could, sitting down with her and holding her in his arms as she sobbed.

"I just…n-never cared that I was muggle-born because I could do _magic_. But n-now I k-know I'm less than you, that I'm n-not a full witch." She explained through broken-hearted sobs.

"Hermione…Hermione _look_ at me," Harry urged, worried and saddened for his best friend. She looked up at him tearfully, no hope left in her eyes.

"Hermione _most_ people can't do wandless magic, most people don't have conduits! That means that most of the 'Purebloods' aren't even full wizards! Dumbledore can, and Snape, and probably Voldemort, but besides them there's just not that many! It's an evolution thing, being sad about it is like being sad about no longer being able to swing easily from tree to tree. You've got just as much power as most witches and wizards, a hell of a lot more brains, and definitely a lot more courage." Hermione wiped her eyes, giving him a sad smile.

"I know…it's just that I've never met a problem I couldn't fix." Harry laughed.

"Who said we couldn't fix it?" Hermione looked shocked by the idea, and started to protest. "No really Hermione, it's like being born without vision or hearing, and muggles have been able to fix that with science."

"But…the wand fixes my lost conduit."

"True, but it doesn't do it _well_. There's probably a magical way to give you an _internal_ conduit. It may not exist yet, but that doesn't mean it can't be done."Hermione still looked shocked.

"Maybe, but I shouldn't get my hopes up," was all she could say.

"True, you shouldn't, but you shouldn't lose hope, either." This time her smile was genuine and untainted by sadness.

"You're right Harry. Thank you."

"What are friends for?" With that, they returned to their practice.

* * *

While spending the better half of his fifth year reading and studying with Hermione, Harry had read books about war. He always had a fictional book to keep on hand when he grew weary of studying, but reading those fictions had been another form of study, for they always incorporated war—war of many kinds. Because they were more pleasurable he had read more of them, but he had not neglected his nonfiction lessons on war, either. With two different but overlapping perspectives on war, he had a pretty good idea of the magnitude of this current one.

Along with his own lessons with Hermione, he and Dumbledore had spent many nights together talking about Voldemort. The Headmaster had shown Harry memories of Voldemort—his own, and others. The prospect of Voldemort's horcruxes was daunting, yes. But it was not what filled Harry with fear.

Looking out a frost covered window in an uncharacteristically brooding mood, Dumbledore had introduced the topic that frightened Harry.  
"Do you believe in angels, Harry?" the headmaster had asked, never turning his gaze from the flurry of snowflakes that fell outside the window. Harry had shifted uncomfortably, his only knowledge of angles being what he had learned the few times he was forced by his family to attend church. Sensing that Dumbledore did not mean the angels in Christian mythology, Harry had stayed quiet, waiting. Finally Dumbledore shifted his gaze to the boy.

"Do you believe in good and evil? Karma? Gods of any kind, Harry?" Harry was startled to realize that he had never contemplated theology of witches and wizards. Somewhere along the line he had simply assumed that, at best, most witches and wizards were agnostic if not downright atheist.

"Let me put it in a different manner my boy…Do you believe that human values, passions, morals and beliefs can be given magical or deific expression?" Harry wasn't sure what the headmaster meant, and he said so. Dumbledore nodded understandingly and stood to face the window, attempting to articulate his thoughts. This in itself was rare; Harry had never seen Dumbledore unable to express _anything._

"What do you believe, Harry, about the _why_ of mankind, of existence?" Harry struggled to come up with an answer when he had never thought about it before.

"I believe…I don't know sir. I've never thought about it."

"Harry you are probably one of the only ones who could say that and be believed," Dumbledore would have chuckled if he had been acting himself, but as he wasn't he simply continued to stare out the window. "Magic is a power, Harry. A power of this world that few humans can wield, but it is there. It is infused in every living creature, no matter how small. In a way it is the life-force of the world, and indeed there are wizarding religions that deify magic and all that it is. But magic, Harry, like life, takes many forms." Harry strained to see what the headmaster was getting at; he felt that this moment was of grave importance to the man…and perhaps himself, as well.

"Forms like magical creatures?" He asked, attempting to clarify.

"Yes, Harry, in a way. Magical creatures that you are familiar with—hippogriffs and giant spiders, gryndilows and flobberworms…many magical creatures are magical because without magic, they would not exist. Magic assists their evolution by bridging the gap between genetic possibility and infinite possibility. But they are not, to put it simply, a _form_ of magic. Magic has given them shape and life, but they are not all magic alone. They exist because of a harmony between evolution and magic, not only on magic themselves. Magical creatures—true magical creatures, born only of magic and no other ingredient, no other influence, are much harder to comprehend, much more complicated to define." Harry was beginning to see what the man was getting at, and he was fascinated beyond belief. He had never considered _how_ magical creatures existed, never thought to ask what they were composed of, what lines of fate had brought them into being, but as he contemplated his professor's words, he began to grow increasingly captivated.  
"Magical…forms, like…undines?" Harry asked, surprised at his own revelation.

"Yes! Harry, quite astute!" Dumbledores voice took on an edge of excitement, but his demeanor still remained thoughtful, internal, and quiet. "Undines are a _magical_ manifestation of something _natural_; the elements. Unlike nymphs, they are composed completely by magical means. Where nymphs are a strange mix between elemental power and human form, undines are fluid creatures, bound only by two laws; magic and their element. A wood nymph will always look like a wood nymph, Harry, but a forest undine could look like nothing at all, or any shape that your imagination could create. Undines do not have powers, they simply _exist_. Their primordial thoughts can influence whatever element they are attached to, but they never _do_, they only _be._"

Harry was mesmerized by the myriad of possibilities that magic opened up. When he had first learned he was a wizard, he thought anything was possible—until he also learned that magic had rules. Excitement rushed his veins. With his recent studies, he had been terribly close to this revelation, but without the headmaster he may never have gotten there.

"So sir, are you saying that…there are no rules to magic? And in that…no real rules of life, of existence?" Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"If there are rules governing existence, Harry, they are larger and more complex than even I am able to discern. The one possible rule that I can think of is that rules are self-imposed or society-imposed ideas." Harry almost said, 'of course there's rules if you think there's rules', but the way Dumbledore had said it made him think of the possibility, of freeing his mind completely of rules. Before he got too far in the idea, he recoiled, and this time Dumbledore did chuckle.

"I see you've realized that, if you were to remove the chains of rules, you would have no true limits on what you were capable of…including the removal of your own, moral rules." Harry gulped and nodded.

"Do you believe in the existence of external morality, Harry?"

"Sir?"

"The idea that, outside of human perception, morality and immorality exist. That, even without human habitation, the ideas exist."

"I…isn't morality and immorality a completely human concept?"

"Human, Harry? No, I do not believe it's human." Harry saw what his professor was getting at.

"Intellectual, I mean."

"Is it? Or does our intellect only allow us to _realize_ the existence of morality?"

"Sir, I don't understand why it matters." The great epiphany that Harry had felt approaching seemed to slip from him in his inability to understand. Dumbledore sighed.

"It doesn't, not practically Harry. Forgive me. What I am getting at with all this is quite simple. Due to the existence of magic, humans—because of their intellect and passions—are able to project magical, sometimes physical forms of their passions, primarily the strongest of the two; love and hate. The creatures created by these projecting—"

"Angels!" Harry exclaimed as understanding finally dawned.

"Yes, Harry. These creatures are both terrible and wonderful in their singularity."

"Sir?"

"Imagine a creature composed primarily of Hate, Harry."

"Like Daemons?"

"Yes…and creatures composed primarily of Love are nonetheless fearful."

"Why?"

"Because while love covers a broad range—compassion, sympathy, empathy, understanding, martyrdom, vigilantes, self-sacrifice, and so on—it is still _only_ love. A creature composed entirely of love cannot feel anything outside of its spectrum, cannot act upon any emotion outside of its purview." Harry tried to imagine how that could be a bad thing, using his own emotions and actions in comparison.  
"We could…We could never fully trust such creatures to act in our best interest because they are incapable of understanding emotions—emotions that _we_ act upon—outside of love?" Dumbledore looked supremely pleased.

"Very good Harry! The creatures composed of our passions—created over the entire lifespan of the human race—are varied and strange. Not to mention some creatures are not created by out projections at all. The true source of their creation is not entirely known—alien emotion and reason seems, at times, to govern these creatures in a way we cannot fathom. It is my belief that the strong _vibrations_ of this world are what created these things. Love and Hate are surely strong vibrations…but then so is destruction, creation, forces of nature and animalistic qualities. Angels and Daemons are not the proper term for these creatures, either."

"Then what is?"

"There is nothing that describes them. An 'Angel' of Justice might interfere on the behalf of the just…but who guides what is just? We have to assume the 'angel' was created from the human understanding of justice…but we cannot be sure which side such an 'angel' would take in our coming war—who says Voldemort is not just? Us, of course, but will this angel see it that way? Thus if this angel appeared on the side of Voldemort, he would look to our eyes as a daemon. The laws that govern their existence are unfathomable, unpredictable. What's more is that, beyond angels and daemons, there are other things. Worse things."Dumbledores mood again turned pensive.

"Sir? Worse things? And, is that what you meant by asking me about external morality?"  
"Yes, Harry. External morality is the only thing that might govern the choices of these angels and daemons. As for worse things, Sorrow never became an angel or a daemon; she became a dementor—and the dementors cousins; Sirens, Medusa, the Weeping Ladies of Mordovia. Misery, Malady, Famine, Disease, Heartbreak, Death—none of them took an angelic or demonic form, but other, more primordial, more terrifying forms. In the same way, love, justice, honor, truth, cleverness, intelligence—they took other forms than only angels, for there are many ways to express such concepts. The same with the concepts that rule daemons—hate, despair, punishment, agony. There are many creatures of this world, created by concepts that are at once alien and familiar to us." Harry was overwhelmed by what they might face, the magnitude of what the headmaster was saying.

"Sir? Will we have to fight these things? Malady, disease, famine, daemons…?" Dumbledore turned to Harry, a reassuring smile finally appearing on his face.

"No, Harry, the magnitude of this war is relatively small—too small to call to the worst things in existence. This was covers England and some of Europe. Were it a world war, fought for our very existence, I would worry—I would worry deeply. But not this war, Harry. Not this war."

"Then…why did you tell me all this?" Harry suspected that the reassurance, while true, was not the whole story. Dumbledore put a hand on Harrys shoulder as they both looked out at what now must surely be a blizzard.

"So that you would know, my boy. So that you would know." Harry, looking out at the rage of what he now thought of as an elemental, did not feel reassured. Not at all.


	15. Chapter 14: Battle

A/N: I hope that all of you enjoyed chapter 13, I really enjoyed writing it. I'd like to apologize to those of you who have me on your Author Alerts list, for the 22 emails you received about my Breaking Benjamin series. A friend of mine suggested I combine them into one story, and I had been putting off doing just that for a while so I decided to finally do it. I know that *I* received 22 emails about it and got irritated, so my apologies to the 84 of you who have suffered similarly!

This chapter is marginally complex and difficult to write, so I would appreciate reviews as we close Harrys fifth year. Enjoy!

PS: I have family from Alaska coming in this Sunday, July 4th. Because of this I probably will not have much time to write. I won't put this story on hiatus because I'm sure I'll have enough time to update sporadically, but I want to warn all of you that there will likely be no more rapid-fire updates. The family leaves July 22nd and I leave for University on August 23rd. The amount of preparation between the 22nd and 23rd will no doubt be hectic because I'm moving out of state, so I again can't promise rapid updates. If I don't finish this story by the time I go to college I *will* have to put this story on hiatus until fall/winter break, because my college is going to be terrifyingly intense and I wont be able to afford distractions. I know most of you will keep reading whatever I post, whenever I post, but I'm sorry to say that the next few months look very, very busy.

PSS: The bit of snarry I put in at the end, I put in especially for you, yazzi.

Thanks,

Cozy

* * *

Chapter 14: Battle

Harry made his way cautiously through the streets of London, looking for the telephone booth that Dumbledore had described for him. So far, things had gone exactly to plan. Voldemort had sent him an image of Sirius captured and tortured, giving him enough information in the vision to know that Sirius was in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries. Except Harry knew that Sirius hadn't been captured—after the vision he had blocked the link between himself and Voldemort and contacted Sirius through his mirror. Finding he was well and unharmed, Harry had alerted Dumbledore and the headmaster had created a Portkey for Harry before quietly alerted and mobilized the Order members.

Harry knew that he was being monitored and followed, both by Death Eaters and Order members, and it made him nervous. He knew no one would dare act until he'd taken the prophecy, but once he had he would have to slowly back out of the scene holding the prophecy until the final moment, when he broke it. The Death Eaters would not dare try to kill or stun him with the prophecy in his hands, but he had to be on guard for a whole host of spells that they could use safely. He had to lure both Death Eaters and Voldemort into the Ministry, meaning he had to give them hope of getting hold of the prophecy. When he broke it the protection it ensured was lost, which was why he had to break it and run—he'd been given specific orders to stay out of the fight.

While he knew from his books that war strategy never went exactly as planned, he would try to do as he was told. If it came to joining the fight, then that's what he would do.

He made his way carefully through the set of spinning doors, using the tale-tale magical signature that Dumbledore had demonstrated for him in order to find the right one. Walking down the long, eerie hallway, he averted his eyes from the strange phoenix-like machinery, intent on not getting caught up in its spell. When he reached the row of P's he went down it, standing in front of the small globe that was labeled with his name—and Voldemort's. The moment he picked it up, chaos would start, and he took a moment to prepare himself.

As Snape had taught him, he reached out as subtly as he could with his mind, feeling for the people watching his progress. There was Lupin and Sirius, sequestered behind the aisle to his left, and then four, darker minds in the one to his right. Everyone was on edge with anticipation.

He reached out to grab the small glass globe, feeling the minds of all those around him tighten in even greater tension. Once he removed it, he cast an immediate and nonverbal wandless stunning spell at the Death Eaters to his right. Two of them went down immediately but the other two—the smarter two—had their defenses up at full tilt. Without waiting to do battle with the remaining two, Harry turned and ran towards the exist as Sirius and Lupin covered his retreat.

"Order members!" Harry heard the distinct sound of Pettigrew's voice as he reached the door, and despite himself he paused to listen. "I thought our master was in Potters mind! He didn't warn us about this!"

"Shut your mouth and fight, worm! Distraction will get you killed!" Lucius voice rang out above the sound of scuffling and spells that did not hit their targets. Harry ran through the door, thinking that Lucius would be a formidable opponent; not only was he supremely focused in battle, but he was mentally prepared for the worst, unlike Pettigrew who was mentally prepared for an easy fight. Harry had the distinct feeling that Lucius must have warned his companions to keep a fierce mental wall and be prepared to deflect nonverbal spells. Two of them had not listened, had defied the warnings with a superior air. Pettigrew had listened.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy was dangerous indeed.

Harry took the door out of the spinning room at full tilt; only pausing long enough to be sure it was the correct one. When he entered the large, cavernous room he stopped, unsure of how to proceed. He could take the elevator out and Apparate away—the headmaster had thought it prudent to teach him untraceable and underage appiration. The only thing stopping him was his second priority—acting as bait for Voldemort. He walked to the far wall where he had a view of every entrance and exit, thinking.

Before he had a chance to decide, circumstances decided for him. Sirius and Lupin came running out from the Department of Mysteries, Lucius hot on their heels.

"Death Eaters, to me!" Lucius roared as he fired spells at Lupin and Sirius without halt. A band of perhaps twenty Death Eaters immediately came out from their hiding places, ranging themselves around the older Malfoy as the same amount of Order members encircled Sirius and Lupin, deflecting spells as quickly as they returned them. Harry cringed and winced—for the first time he was on a battlefield and unable to do anything—ordered to sit this one out.

_Dumbledore said not to _join_ the fight. Well, here I am, on the sidelines…fight un-joined…_

He made his decision and reached out again with his mind, struggling with the distance. The Death Eaters were solely focused on the battle at their front, completely unconcerned with the young man standing to the sidelines.

_Do they think I'm just going to stand here until someone wins, and hand the prophecy over like a victory prize?_ Harry though, amused. The Order members knew the plan, knew Harrys mission and understood theirs. Above all, their job was to keep the Death Eaters distracted as Harry broke the prophecy and drew Voldemort to the scene in one fell swoop. Dumbledore was waiting, watching from some unknown place for Tom Riddles appearance. The Death Eaters had no excuse. Their mission was to get the prophecy, and not a one of them was branching off from the group to go after Harry.

_All the better for us._ Harry thought has he finally made contact with several Death Eaters minds. Before they were able to recognize the contact, he was able to kill four of them with a wandless and silent spell. _Avada Kedavra is pretty useful…wandless. No wonder the ministry banned wandless magic._ Harry thought. Lucius had seen his four companions go down and his head snapped around, eyes narrowing as he took in Harry's lone form.

_He sees the danger of me._ Harry thought, knowing it was true. Lucius Malfoy was perhaps the most dangerous Death Eater of them all. He didn't whine, complain, or act as a supplicant. He was his masters general and he acted the part superbly. He saw a problem, ostracized it, attacked and defeated it, then moved on. He didn't waste precious moments to adjust mentally to the new problem, he accepted all that came and handled it with resolute force. Most Death Eaters wouldn't have _believed _that Harry was a threat, and the time it would take to convince them was enough time for Harry and the Order members to put a sufficient dent in their ranks. Lucius Malfoy was incredibly dangerous.

The older mans single-mindedness gave Harry the shivers, in part because it made the man an incredibly good general for the wrong side, and in part because his qualities were something Harry admired.

The moment Lucius saw four of his own go down, he dispatched another four towards Harry and gave orders for his people to wall their minds. Harry knew without a doubt that the other Death Eaters would follow his orders. Lucius might be questioned and ignored under other circumstances, but he was unquestioningly the one they looked to in battle.

Opening his mind one last time Harry shouted towards Sirius, _kill Lucius!_ Harry didn't have time to see if his godfather had heard him and followed his suggestion, because by that time the four men Lucius had sent were upon him.

"Hand over the Prophecy, Potter, and maybe we'll leave peacefully." The largest once said, gesturing towards Harry's hand.

"Oh? Tell me, how stupid do you think I am?" At Harrys words a test of wills ensued. None of the Death Eaters could spell him in any way that could harm the prophecy, and Harry couldn't kill or disarm any of them because he was busy deflecting their 'accios' and freezing spells.

Harry was getting desperate. He was in a stalemate of sorts, one that could be broken if another Death Eater were to come over. He could barely hold off the four men, and that only because they had a limited amount of spells they could use.

Desperately, Harry opened his mind to his link with Voldemort. _Your people are having a tough time getting this prophecy, Tom! Perhaps you should come get it yourself—COWARD!"_ He hoped it would be an effective ploy. He had sent a vision of the current scene along with the words, and it should—harry thought—be enough to enrage the Dark Wizard into coming himself. He only hoped that Voldemort's desire for the prophecy was strong enough.

Five minutes passed before there was any sign of change. Five minutes of increasingly difficult dueling, five minutes of sweat in his eyes and on his palms, five minutes of mind-wrenching and gut-churning power-play. Five minutes later and Lucius' voice rang out.

"Press them! Our master has come!" That simple statement was enough to distract his four adversaries, enough for Harry to kill them all in quick succession as they turned towards Lucius' voice, searching for their master.

Stepping over the bodies, Harry quickly smashed the prophecy as he made his way towards the exit. Though he wanted badly to stay and do more damage to the enemy, he followed the orders of _his_ general and headed for escape.

Voldemort's presence was palpable, and everyone moved back and away from the center of the room; the Death Eaters in reverence, the Order members in wariness. Before Voldemort had a chance to seek out Harry, Dumbledore appeared.

"Hello, Tom. So good to see you again." The Headmaster said conversationally, gliding up to stand a mere four feet away from the glaring Dark Lord.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," The man sneered, almost rivaling Snape in his sarcasm. "Where's the little Potter brat? Perhaps he's in the…mood…for some more play?" The tone held a taunting edge—taunting both Harry and Dumbledore about what had passed that night in the graveyard, enticing laughter from his followers.

Harry felt his face burn, but he kept moving, wrestling his anger, loathing, and shame into a deeper and deeper part of his being. They could not afford to lose this battle because he lost his self-control and attacked the Dark Lord head-on. He would lose, and then where would they be? He kept inching towards the exit. Currently he was hidden behind a tall pillar of stone that held up a part of the ceiling. His next visualized hiding spot was a statue of a wizard almost ten feet away. Before he could begin to move, he was grabbed by Lucius and four other Death Eaters.

"He doesn't have the prophecy!" Lucius called to his master, who roared.

"It fell!" Harry yelled at Lucius as he squirmed and fought, attempting to get out of the mans grip. He was casting nonverbal and wandless spells, but to no affect—they were deflected before they made contact by other nonverbal spells. Lucius had noticed that both Harry and his fellow Death Eaters had been relying too much on magic—and had eradicated that problem by grabbing Harry physically while holding him off magically.

Harry felt incredibly stupid has he was wrestled to the flood and bound hand and foot by some kind of rope that resisted a severing or unknotting spell. Once he was bound, he was dragged over to the circle of Death-Eaters-and-Order-members, where everyone was ranged on either side of either Dumbledore or Voldemort. Lucius made his way to the front with his prize in hand, and set Harry down near Voldemort's feet. Harry had been attacking anyone who was not also deflecting, and he had managed to fell another three Death Eaters on his way through the crowd. Both Voldemort and Lucius were sufficiently immune to his attacks, keeping him off with an almost lazy deflection. Harry realized that, while his strength and power had been growing exponentially, he had nowhere reached the strength and skill of these two.

"Stay still, Potter," Voldemort said softly, and Harry struggle with his bonds immediately ceased without his agreement. How had the man done that? No spell said, while at the same time deflecting Harry's attacks.

Looking around, Harry realized that Dumbledore and Voldemort were caught in a purely mental battle. The magic and tension was palpable in the air, and Harry realized that Tom Riddle also commanded wandless magic, and he had had a much longer time than Harry to perfect his skill and power.

Everyone waited in strained silence—each force was almost jumping with the tension of holding back, and like so many other wars in so many other times, the first spell to go off would be the start of another vicious battle. But both sides held their counsel. Waiting…waiting for whatever passed between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord to be decided.

At the end of what seemed like an eternity to Harry, Voldemort simply vanished, taking his Death Eaters with him. Immediately voices broke out as Order members called to follow the retreating army, exclaimed over the sudden disappearance, or whooped over their victory. Dumbledore ignored all of it to kneel beside Harry and undo his bonds.

"Very well done, Harry," the man said with quiet pride. "I was not sure before this whether you would have the strength to truly kill another human being." Harry wasn't sure if Dumbledore was admonishing him for his death count or congratulating him.

"They made their choice," Harry said as he rubbed his wrists and ankles before getting to his feet.

"That they did, my boy. That they did." Dumbledore rose with him, turning him towards an entrance to a hall that now contained a flustered group of Ministry officials at its head.

"But…I saw him! Minister, it was he-who-must-not-be-named!" A scared looking witch said as she pointed to the spot where, moments ago, Voldemort had stood.

"What's this? Dumbledore! Is what these people are saying true?" Fudge pushed his way through the crowd, not even glancing at the bodies he stepped over as he made his way towards the headmaster.  
Dumbledore held his silence as Harry strode, furious, towards the red-faced man and administered a resounding slap that lifted him off the ground and onto his ass. Harry stood over him, fuming.

"You are a scared, mean little man. This battle would not have been fought—lives would not have been lost—had you listened to me sooner. I hope you inform your successor of your own horrendous mistakes. If you do not, I will do so for you." Fudge was white-faced and trembling under the intensity of Harrys glare.

"S-successor?" He asked dumbly, raising a hand to his stinging face. Before Harry could say anything more, Sirius and Lupin were at his side, arms around him, pulling him away.

"C'mon Harry. That sack of shit isn't worth a vacation to Azkaban." Sirius said quietly as he and Lupin led Harry towards the group of Order members who seemed to be both stunned and pleased with Harry's performance. Hands patted him on the back or briefly gripped his shoulders as he made his way through the group to the lip of the fountain, sitting down heavily.

"Harry—Harry we didn't lose a single person!" Lupin said excitedly, his face alight with true victory. "With your help, we put an extensive dent in their ranks and managed not to lose anyone! You kept Lucius distracted enough that he wasn't able to concentrate his whole force, _and_ you killed a good amount of them, as well!" Harry felt slightly sick. Emotion over having killed people raged heavily with his reasons for doing it. Eventually reason won out, and he felt less nauseous.

"That's wonderful, Lupin." He said, giving the man a hooked grin. The other man gave him a wondering smile and squeezed his shoulder.

"Lets get you home."

* * *

Harry stayed mostly to his room after the OWLs were over, thinking over the recent battle and considering what he could have done better. His capture by Lucius had been stupid—if he'd been on alert, scanning constantly for a nearby sentient presence, he would not have been taken so easily.

The main reason, however, that he stayed in his room, was the press. Not only had the Prophet, Quibbler, and other less-known newspapers printed the story of Voldemort's spectacular return, they had also printed, word-for-word, Harrys speech towards the now-disposed minister, as well has his violent physical attack. Everyone regarded it as some kind of game—something funny. Instead if a fearful hush falling over the people at news of Voldemort's return, there was only the talk of Harrys attack on the minister to be heard.

"Hey Harry! Slap any Ministers today?" And it went on. Harry felt angry with his fellow students and wizarding community at large. Didn't they know there was a war going on, right under their very noses?

He supposed their light-heartedness probably had something to do with their age, as well as the fact that the Order members had won the first battle with resounding victory—not a single person lost. The contents of the prophecy, while not completely clear, were clear enough to the public and subsequently everyone seemed to be in high spirits because they were sure—with Harry Potter on their side—that they could not lose.

His bitter failure and realizations therein from the night at the ministry, combined with the public's unfaltering faith, made Harry brood. What if he simply couldn't _win_? Voldemort matched or nearly matched Dumbledore for power, Lucius was probably a match for Snape, and Harry…Harry was only halfway towards what Snape was. And it would take him years to advance that far.

When despondency threatened to consume him, he practiced. He looked up magical-binding-rope and learned how to overcome it. He studied wizarding war tactics—which were much more complicated than muggle war tactics—and practiced reaching his mind outwards towards other minds across distances until he no longer had to struggle to obtain entrance to a mind one hundred yards—the two hundred yards—away.

But nothing he did could distract him from his new understanding of his own mortality, his own fallacy. Finally, on the last day of lessons, Harry went down into the dungeons to see Professor Snape.

He knocked on the door, and a grudging voice gave him entrance to the living room. Snape was seated at his desk, grading a last round of underclassmen papers.

"Come to show off your battle wounds, Potter?" The voice was cutting, and held an edge of…jealousy? Snape winced internally as he heard his own voice, berating himself for letting even that much of his emotions through. The truth was, he _was_ jealous. Jealous he'd been excluded from a main operation, though he understood why. Jealous he had not been there to…well, to protect Potter. It was his duty, after all. _Lying to yourself again, Severus?_ He quickly shut the voice out. Of course he wasn't _lying_ to himself. Preposterous. He had been pacing his study that night, knowing something was afoot, not because he was _worried_ for the brat but because he was anxious at being excluded. Of course.

"No. I'm sure you were pretty pissed about being left out, Severus, and I wouldn't gloat over wounds, had I taken any." Harry was very calm, in control. He had wasted enough time before this, time he could have been spending with this man, and he was not about to ruin his plans by allowing himself to be egged on.

"What did you call me?" Snape snapped, standing from his desk to glare down at the young man.

"Severus. I figure, school is almost out, and we're already past last-name basis, anyway, with the things we shared." He saw the man wince and berated himself for being so vague. "Yes, I meant that, too, but I mostly meant the lessons." He clarified. "I've just been through a life-or-death situation without _you_ to watch my back, and I find I appreciate my life more than I have words to express. My morality, my fallacy, _terrifies_ me, Severus." Harry was speaking quietly and looking down, absolutely vulnerable and hating his own weakness. He reached a hand up and stroked the mans shirtfront, looking up with some strange mixture of hesitancy and need in his face. Snape was frozen, completely off-guard and unsure of what to say, how to proceed.

"If…if you don't want me…tell me. But I still want you." Harry's voice was very soft, and his own vulnerability made him wince, but he continued to stare into Snapes eyes, searching for a hint of any response.  
"Potter…I've already explained to you why a relationship between the two of us would be a bad idea." Snape voice was firm, but it held no hint of sarcasm or malice. Taking the answer for what it was—an evasion—Harry stepped closer and pressed himself against his professor, allowing his hands to roam over the mans back, sides, and shoulders. Snapes hands fell on Harry's shoulders, squeezing them hard before loosening completely.  
"Potter, you must understand. I don't know how to be gentle." His own admission made a part of him furious—that he would ever be so candid with this persistent nuisance. The rest of him was satisfied with this truth, this very last, very good reason against a relationship. Without that reason there was nothing left, no reason to continue to restrain himself, and he clung to it tenaciously in his mind, willing himself not to respond to Harrys exploration of his body. Harry laughed softly.

"I don't know how to _like_ gentle. But I want to learn. Severus, I want to learn very much, and I want to do so with _you._" Snape didn't respond, but he didn't push Harry away, either. Encouraged harry kept talking into the taller mans shirt-front, letting his hands rest on the others hips.

"Hermione did some research on sadomasochism, you know. _I_ never would have thought about it, but she did. She found that sadomasochism is often a psychological manifestation of trauma—a kind of haven your mind creates for itself. It's actually considered a psychological disease in most cases. She said that sometimes it's genetic, but more often than not it manifests in order to preserve the subjects sanity." His hands began to roam again while Snape again said nothing.

"I don't know what kind mine, or yours, is. But I know I want to learn gentleness, either way." Snape finally found a sufficient response.

"You want me to make _love_ to you, Potter?" He said scathingly, intending to hurt the boy and make him desist. But, as he already knew, Potter was persistent. And too damn mature for his own good.

"No…I don't think you love me, and I don't love you…yet. Just…desire, without hurting." The damn boy had an answer for everything! Of their own accord, his own hands began to explore Harry's thin and supple body. Harry made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, and that sound drove Snape to break off his frenzied thoughts of denial. He grabbed the younger man by his buttocks and smashed their hips together, pressing Harry to himself as he brushed his mouth against the boys' ear.

"One night," He purred, and Harry shivered delectably in his arms. Harry nodded agreement against Snapes chest, scared that if he argued, he would lose.

One night.

* * *

PLEASE review and tell me what you think! I'm so-uber-worried that the snarry bit was ooc for snape...


	16. Chapter 15: Untill Dawn

Authors Note: I'm writing chapter 15 so quickly after posting 14 because 1, I know where I want to go with it, and 2, I feel bad that I will not be able to post so quickly in the coming months.

The third and last thing is that I have a question for you readers. I have read many a Fanfiction that began as a delight, and—with the authors changes—ended in disappointment. Because of that I have decided to include you who are reading this chapter-by-chapter in a decision I will have to make. Here it is:

So far I have struggled in re-writing the Harry Potter series while using JKRs original outline because, when her characters begin to fulfill the potential she embodied them with, the problems/conflicts she gave them become relatively small. We all know that, in book one, Harry was referred to as a smart, inquisitive wizard with the potential for great power, and that by book seven he was an average boy who shouted Expelliarmus at the last battle. Similarly, Ron was given too much spotlight, the character of Hermione remained under-developed, Luna had a lot of potential that went untapped, and so on. Because I have expanded on the characters she originally set down, I have also had to expand on the conflicts. A smarter Harry could easily defeat most things that JKR originally set before him, so I gave him what happened in the graveyard to challenge him. However I would like to continue to follow her basic outline of events, while adding several conflicts—or embellishing her conflicts—to match my expanded characters. The challenge of expanding the characters as well as the history/magical theory/plot, while keeping to the basic outline, is a good challenge that I have so far enjoyed.

My problem now is Voldemort. In the books, before Voldemort 'died', he probably killed ~100 or less people. Now, keeping in mind that the Wizarding world has been in existence since humankind began, it's a bit of a stretch to assume that the wizarding world has never, in all its history, run across an adversary that has killed more than 100 people. Voldemort, in comparison to our—muggle—history, is definitely small beans. As Dumbledore said in my chapter 13, this war is relatively small and contained. I understand that Jkr was writing a children's book, but since my rendition strives to be more realistic _and_ more adult, Voldemort is simply not a worthy adversary to my expanded characters.

Because of this, I have begun to toy with the idea of a _new_, more insurmountable adversary/conflict. I already have what it will be planned out, but I don't think I'll share it. My question for you, lovely readers, is should I do it? I plan to stay within the outline JKR set down through Voldemort—but should there be something after Voldemort? There would be foreshadowing, so it doesn't come out of nowhere, and at one point I'm sure it will feel to Harry that several seemingly-insurmountable problems are coming at him from all sides, as he struggles to defeat Voldemort as well as contain/strive to understand the new problem.

This story could go two ways; make Voldemort a worthy adversary for my characters by expanding and deepening his own character and influence, or, expand and deepen him a little, sure, but have a newer and more insurmountable problem follow in his wake. The point of heroes is that they face insurmountable problems, despair, and yet triumph against all odds. Currently Voldemort is not that kind of problem.

So should I make a new one, or make him that kind of problem?

Please let me know what you think. I could easily write an alternate ending if there are an overwhelming number of people who would prefer, in equal amounts, one or the other.

I cannot continue after this chapter until I have received an answer—foreshadowing should begin immediately—but I will continue, and choose for myself, if I do not get a fair amount of responses within one week because, as they say, the show must go on.

So please enjoy this last—for the time being—chapter, and thank you for reading such a long authors note.

PS: there is smut in this chapter. I wasn't sure how far the M rating allows me to go, so I tried to play it safe.

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Chapter 15: Discovery

Harry lay stretched out on the plush carpet by Snapes hearth, one hand propping his head up while the other toyed with a loose thread. His eyes roamed the man before him, who sat at the couch with a new bottle of scotch in one hand. Harry hadn't been able to convince the other man out of his shirt, but he noticed with satisfaction that he had been able to remove the heavy cloak, waistcoat, and shoes. Now Severus Snape reclined against the couch in only his white button up shirt and trousers. Harry, on the other hand, wore only his boxers. And not three seconds ago, he hadn't even been wearing that.

They had not gone as far as they could have, Harry mused, but what they had done had been intensely satisfying, for him. While the encounter hadn't been exactly _gentle_, it had been centered around desire more than pain, which was exactly the way Harry had wanted it. They hadn't even made it to the bed once Snape had given in to Harry's pleas; instead they had descended to the floor, where Harry had had his first, desire-only inspired orgasm.

Harry considered the older man, wondering. Snape had stopped him when he had moved to return the pleasure he had received, standing as Harry protested and making his way towards the bar. Now here he sat. Had he disappointed him in some way? Harry cringed at the very thought, trying to keep things in perspective. He knew Snape had been just as aroused—perhaps moreso—by the things they had done. So why wouldn't he let Harry return the pleasure?

Severus Snape was watching the young man stretched on his carpet from the corner of his eyes. Though he wasn't returning the boys stare, he was nonetheless staring. The light, creamy skin on Harry's shoulders and side was set aglow by the fire; the skin that was cast in soft shadows seemed to glow with its own internal light. Harrys dark hair was, as always, messily tossed across his forehead, hiding the scar that marked him as the boy-who-lived. His glasses lay cast aside near the fireplace, green eyes glowingly luminescent as the boys eyes roamed over Snapes form. He was uncomfortable with the intensity of Harrys scrutinizing gaze, but so far he made no comment—he was lost in his own thoughts.

He had never expected to find so much pleasure in another's body without the darker desires that usually came with his sexual encounters. The sounds Harry had made under his attentions had left him nearly wild with _wanting_. There had been so much that he had wanted to do, he had wanted to explore the boy inch by creamy inch. But when Harry had reached toward him, presumably to take care of Severus' own, obvious erection, he had recoiled. Harry's gesture had brought reality back upon him in a wave, and the uncontrolled desire he had felt had suddenly scared him in its intensity. What if he had hurt the boy? And the thought of Harry touching _him_, with those soft, innocent hands had been enough to stop him cold. Harry should be with someone his own age, someone young, someone…less used, less…monstrous. The fact that _Harry_ had pushed the issue didn't seem to matter. It didn't matter that he had _tried_ being with others, first. It didn't matter how sure Harry was. Because one day, Harry would wake up and see an old man, an old and a despicable man. Severus couldn't—wouldn't—simply wait around for that time to come, and nor could he imagine putting Harry through that.

The boy, with those earnest, fierce eyes, with his thin but muscular frame and his black, unruly hair…he deserved better, and would not have trouble finding it.

"Did…did I disappoint you?" The erroneous question, posed so hesitantly, startled Severus and caught him off guard. He looked at Harry, whose eyes were more vulnerable than they had ever been, and realized that to lie—to lie so Harry would move on and forget him—might break something in the boy that could never be fixed.

"No. You gave me more pleasure than I have ever previously experienced." Snape winced internally. Perhaps he was being_ too_ candid. He did not enjoy his own sense of vulnerability at his words, but the look on Harrys face was certainly worth that much.

"Then why…" Harry let his voice trail off, sure that his question would be understood. Snape sighed.

"You need to find someone your own age, Harry. At the very least, someone less immoral." Harry looked surprised.

"You're one of the best men I've ever met, Severus. You put yourself through hell—risk your life constantly—for the greater good. What's more moral than that." Snape shook his head.

"You must be blind with desire, Potter. Or have you conveniently what I've done for the sake of your own wishes?" Harry kept toying with the thread.

"If we didn't have your cunning, your intelligence, power, strength, and the information you bring us at personal risk to yourself, I don't think we'd stand a chance against the Dark Lord. The things you've had to do in the service of our cause are…they're abominable. But I don't think _you_ are." His voice dropped its ferocity, angling towards gentleness as he spoke, "I forgive you, for what you had to do to me, Severus. I forgive you for having a hand in using me without my knowledge towards the good of our cause."

"And the rest?" Snape asked, alluding to the actual actions that had taken place that night.

"I don't hold the rest against you; it's the first part that was the problem. Once I knew what had taken place, I _couldn't_ hold…that…against you. Only the fact that you had a hand in using me." Snape couldn't really believe that, but he still felt better—a little, anyway—from Harry's words. Those words would never excuse his actions, but he was relieved to see that Harry didn't seem to be suffering as much as he might have been.

"As to getting involved with someone else, I told you I've tried that." He raised one hand as Snape began to respond, asking for silence and getting it. "And," he chuckled, "And how in the _world_ do you expect me to have a normal relationship with a normal boy! Can you imagine? I'd have to keep secrets from him, and I wouldn't want to keep secrets from my lover. There's no way that a relationship with _anyone_ else could ever become anything more than play-acting, Severus. I've matured too much, from the things I've seen and done, from what's been done to me, to ever be capable of a _normal_ relationship."

Snape was surprised to hear that. He'd never considered that, besides simple physical attraction, he and Potter were compatible for the secrets they shared, their places in the war with the Dark Lord, and the mutual understanding that victims unquestioningly had. He realized that, were he himself to ever want a normal relationship with a normal person, the ensuing problems would make such a thing impossible. Even though he was still conscious of the problems that lied in a relationship with Potter, he realized it would certainly be more obtainable than with anyone else.

Seeing his professors face, Harry grinned and stood up, moving to sit next to Snape on the couch.

"So now that we're agreed on that point, I really wished you had been there with us at the Ministry." The abrupt change in topic was incredibly sly, and Snape once again pondered Harry's perchance for Slytherin-like qualities. Having won one battle unopposed, he had quickly changed the topic in order the leave that matter open-ended, undecided, and inviting. Very sly, indeed.

"Why, so I could have saved your miserable hide?" The words were cruel, but his tone didn't have its usual malice. _He_ wished he had been there, too.

"Yes! I managed pretty well, for my age and strength, but I got caught by Lucius and if Dumbledore hadn't been there, I'd have been toast."

"I heard the story," Snape said in a monotone. He did not want to imagine what could have happened, had the headmaster not been present.

"But it was kind of like you were there, helping me, anyway. The lessons you gave me helped tremendously. Opening me up to wandless magic led me to studying and practicing on my own, and because of that—along with Occlumency and Legilimency—I was able to take down ten whole Death Eaters by myself." A bit of pride showed in his voice, and Snape thought it was well earned. No matter the mistakes Harry had made, he had performed exceedingly well for his first battle. Tremendously.

"That is only the beginning of what I am prepared to teach you," Snape said, almost seductively, and Harry felt a quiver run up through his shoulders as the older mans dark eyes caught his own and held them.

"I'd like that—to continue our lessons." He said quietly.

"Then we shall." Snape looked away, breaking the intensity of the contact and taking another drink of his scotch.

"All of them?" Harry asked, touching Severus' arm to be sure his meaning got through.

"Potter…Harry, one day, one of us will cease to want the other." Snapes voice was firm, and his tone implied that it would be he, Severus, who would no longer want Harry, but Harry wondered.

"Severus…how many days do we truly have left? Realistically, one or both of us will die before that happens." Snape didn't move, didn't respond. Harry hesitantly moved from his sitting position to place one knee to either side of Snapes thighs, straddling the other man. Snapes head snapped around to glare are the impudent boy, barely restraining himself from shoving Harry off onto the floor. Harrys hands moved down the mans chest and sides, roaming again, feeling—touching. If Harry had responded with vows of undying desire, or worse, love, Snape would have had reason to shove him out, to make him leave. As it was, Harry was carefully avoiding any such thing, and Severus once again found it increasingly hard to resist.

"Please?" Harry asked. "You said 'one night.' It's not dawn yet, professor," He gave the man a hooked, teasing grin.

Snape grabbed Harry by the hips, moving him closer so that his face was inches from Harrys.

"Till dawn, then," He said in a low, melodious voice before kissing Harry—none too gently—on his lips. Harry groaned at the contact and, without breaking it, began to unbutton the other mans shirt. When Snape pulled away, likely intent on stopping him, Harry glared.

"You can't just satisfy your desire to touch me, but put limits on my desire to touch you." He snapped, and instead of an angry retort or outburst, Snape glared and went back to kissing him.

The sounds Harry made when their bare skin finally touched was enough to drive him over the edge, and he suddenly no longer cared _what_ happened between that moment, and dawn.

He pulled Harry harder against himself, electing a groan from the young man. Without warning he stood, and Harry's legs wrapped around his hips without a pause as the boy continued to kiss and nip at his neck.

"Where are you taking me?" Harry asked distractedly, completely engrossed in his exploration of Severus' soft skin.  
"Where else?" Snapes voice was husky, strained taunt with desire as he walked across the floor and into the bedroom. Harry didn't bother to respond as he was placed on the bed, but when Snape bent over him, he glared.

"Your pants," he said pointedly, nodding to his half-clad professor.

"Oh for the love of—" Snape growled, his pants disappearing in the next instant through the use of wandless magic.

"Fairs fair," Harry said delightedly, but before he could stare overlong at the mans erection, Severus was on him again, both of them gasping as their bare skin touched. Harry's hands roamed, trying to cover every inch of Snapes skin at once, unable to control his desire-fueled exploration.

Severus was shocked to hear Harry start muttering in parsletongue, and shocked further by the intense reaction it had on him. The sound was unquestioningly erotic, and the older man furthered his attentions in order to keep Harry speaking.

Likewise the noises Snape was making as he touched, kissed, and nipped Harrys torso were giving the boy a thrill of shivers, making him want, more than anything, to give the man even more pleasure. Harrys hands rose over Severus' thighs, slowly but determinedly moving towards the mans erection. When he realized what Harry was doing, Snape pulled back, again uncertain.

"Harry…"

"I want to," Harry said, without realizing he said so in parsletongue. Snape moved to lie down as Harry followed him, kneeling beside his professor and trying to ignore his own need.  
"What else will you convince me of?" Snape grumbled, not unkindly, and Harry grinned.

"I don't…I don't think I'm ready for, for the…" Harry trailed off as he realized that Snape understood his meaning. "But everything else. I want everything else." Before Snape could respond, Harry's hands and lips soon made it impossible to form a coherent thought; and for a very long time, he did not.

"I hear you slapped the minister," Snape smirked as he watched Harry. The boy was lying on his back, thoroughly worn out, and Snape was propped on an elbow, looming over him.

"_Ex_-Minister, to be precise," Harry grinned.

"My, my, Potter, who knew you had such _fire_?" the boy blushed at the double-entendre, and Snape noted that the blush made him look even more appealing, if that was possible.

"I was angry. Anyway, that's all anyone seems to be able to talk about. I know people are in high spirits because of our victory, but the Dark Lord is still _out_ there, there's still a war to be fought, and if all of their high spirits are because they think I'm _chosen_ to defeat him, that it's destined to happen…" A shadow passed over Harrys face, and Snape saw the boys' worries in a single glance.

"After enough lessons with me, Potter, you'll be prepared to take him on." Harry grinned at the false pompousness, realizing that, while what Snape had said was true, the man had also been joking in order to make him smile.

"But why _me_, then? Why can't _you _do it? What do I have that you don't?" Harry asked, bringing up another of his questions. Snape sighed and leaned back.

"I don't know, Potter. But apparently you have 'the power the Dark Lord knows not'."

"Like what?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"I'm betting on sheer stupidity, myself," Snape grumbled, and Harry laughed.

"Probably," He agreed, yawning. In only two more minutes, Harry was asleep. Snape stayed up nearly an hour longer, contemplating the sleeping young man and their future. _It's never going to work, Severus. You know that. So why did you let him convince you?_

Precisely as the sun kissed the sky in the first moments of dawn, Harry was awakened and kicked out with a renewed attempt at maliciousness on Snapes part. The problem was, he could see that Harry was going to be stubborn about this, and that was never, ever a good sign.

* * *

Harry's summer was off to a good start. Not only had he managed to break through Snapes initial walls and protests, but Hermione was again staying at the castle with him and Draco. His lessons would continue, and—hopefully—he would see more shows with Hermione and her parents, as well.

Harry made his way to the dungeons in excellent spirits. No matter what Snape now said to the contrary, Harry knew with certainty that the man cared about him and desired him, and that was all the talisman he needed to deflect the older mans mood—whatever it may be.

"Hello, Professor Snape," He greeted as he entered the now-familiar living room. He blushed briefly at the memory of his latest visit, but otherwise his composure was phenomenal.

"Potter, so glad you could join me," Snape drawled, alluding to Harry's tardiness.

"Sorry sir, I was caught up with some goodbyes—you know, with Fred and George and Neville leaving today. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not. Goodbyes are tedious enough, at once every 6 months." Harry laughed, delighted that Snape was _joking_ with him, even treating him as an equal in his sardonic way.

"Certainly sir. Could we sit? I have some questions, and I should probably fill you in about my self-taught lessons from the past school year."

"Indeed," Snape said dryly, moving to sit in the armchair while Harry took the couch.

Harry wanted to say a thousand things, to assure the older man that he still cared about and desired him, that the subsequent days following their 'one night' had not had any negative effects on his feelings. He wanted to thank the man for his gentleness that night—for not being cruel or harsh. But he held his silence, wary that pressing too soon would likely be a bad idea, and wanting to keep the good mood that seemed prevalent in the room.

Snape, on the other hand, had realized that Harry would stubbornly insist on more nights together, at more contact, intimacy, and sexual encounters. In order to throw Harry off-balance he had decided that a good—good for him, anyway—mood with a suggestion at comradice would keep the boy both momentarily off-guard and confused. If Snape was able to shift their relationship in a more friendly direction, he might be able to deny the boys advances with a distant but polite demeanor. While he found it difficult to be, well, nice, it was not as difficult as he might have thought, and that worried him.

"I practiced wandless magic and Occlumency every day. I've been able to touch another's mind at a distance of 200 yards, and I've memorized a lot of useful charms and spells."

"It sounds like you've made a good amount of progress, Mister Potter," Snape said with quiet pride. Harry was momentarily stunned to hear the pride in his professor's voice, but he soon went on, glowing.

"What I want to know is, are the spells actually _necessary_? It seems to me that _intent_ should matter just as much—maybe more—as the right words. I read all about the historical witches and wizards, who didn't use or need wands, but it doesn't say whether they had vocal spells—specific words—that they needed." Snape was impressed at Harry's apparent grasp on magical theory.

"The thing is, Potter, that it takes an incredibly disciplined mind to do what you suggest—to perform magic based solely on intent and without a wand. Imagine staring at me, staring hard, and trying to light the table on fire, using only intent. You would probably light _me_ on fire. The mental control of magic has deteriorated since the advent of verbal spell-words, and because of that, most people are unable to produce magic without a solid verbal command—even those who are capable of wandless magic. Even nonverbal spells require us to _think_ the spell-words." Harry thought about what his professor said, nodding.

"Spell-words have been used to outline intent, and there are enough spells to cover anything you might require. The problem with spells vs. intent is that there is a moment—sometimes a vital moment—between thinking of the spell and casting the spell. With intent, it's a split second of action, whereas spells take more time. And even when that additional time is minute, it is sometimes a quite deciding moment between death and life. The _only_ time intention should be used over spells is when your life depends on those brief, flashing moments."

"But why? If I learned enough self-discipline to concentrate on you but light the table on fire, why _shouldn't_ I use intent more often then spells?"

"Even if you could obtain such self-discipline, said discipline is _imposed_, it is not constant. You don't just reach it and sit there—you must maintain it. And the moment it slips…"

"I see your point," Harry said. Nevertheless he was still intrigued by the idea of _intent_. He thought that, perhaps when he was alone, he might experiment with it.

"What about Occlumency? I realized during the battle that it's much more important than memorizing spells and casting them. Most people don't bother to learn it, and if they do, they don't bother to use it. Why? I was able to kill ten of them because they weren't guarding their minds. Because I couldn't work Avada Kedavra at that distance, but once I was in their mind I was able to kill them like they were standing right in front of me. Why don't more people use it?"

"That's a very good question, Mister Potter. Occlumency is a very difficult subject to learn. Though you have the maturity of mind and raw magical power that allows you to learn and use it with relative ease, most people have not—could not—use it the way you or I are able to. Because of its difficulty, Having an Occlumence on your side is an invaluable asset. Currently both sides are technically numbered three-to-three. You, the headmaster, and myself against the Dark Lord, Lucius, and myself."

"Yeah but you're really on our side, so we totally overpower them," Harry grinned.

"I use my power enough towards their ends that it makes little to no difference, Potter. As I was saying, Occlumency is a rare talent. But its benefits are such that any side of any war would go through great lengths to have one or more on their side. It could almost be compared to a muggle war fought with one or two wizards on either side."

"Is Occlumency related to wandless magic, sir?"Snape smirked.

"Very good Potter. Those who are capable of wandless magic automatically have a perchance for Occlumency. Those with wands—those without conduits—can only hope for results half as good as those that come to us naturally. It is one reason a good Occlumence is so rare."

"No wonder Hermione isn't very good at it," Harry muttered. Snape nodded. "What about magical manifestations of human passions and natural or animalistic forces?" Snape blinked.

"What about them?"

"Dumbledore told me all about them, and asked me if I believed in external morality, and went off about angels and daemons." Harry said with a broodiness that hadn't been apparent earlier. "When I asked him why he had told me all that, he just said 'so that you would know'. He said that the war with the Dark Lord wasn't big enough to call those powers into existence, but what did he mean by that, and why did he tell me?"

"I haven't the slightest idea why he told you all of that—it's all currently irrelevant. But what he meant by calling those things into existence is rather simple. Like a dementor would be attracted to happiness, or a particularly vital soul, these other creatures are attracted to their…'echoes', in human lives. If a large-scale war was being fought, with an excess of honor, justice, misery, desolation, love, and hate, those echoes of the beings existence would call it to the battlefield. Does that make sense?" Harry nodded, still concentrating. Both Snape and Harry were wondering—almost nervously—why the headmaster would have brought up such a subject, a subject with so little bearing on the current war.

"Well, I'm sure he had his reasons," Harry said unconvincingly.

"Certainly." Snape responded automatically, still puzzling over the strange actions of the headmaster.

"So, what should we start learning now?" Harry prompted.

"I think we should continue maintaining your resistance to the two unforgivables…and then perhaps I could teach you a new way to use Occlumency. You have already stumbled upon it by killing those Death Eaters through Occlumency, but there are easier ways to kill—once you're in another's mind—than Avada Kedavra. There are a great many things one could do, once in another's mind." Harry agreed in eagerness, and they began.

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A/N: Sorry it's so short, but I really cannot write anymore. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review


	17. Chapter 16: North Star

A/N: last update before the craziness of family! Can you believe that there's almost 100 reviews? It makes me glow :3

Also: BANG! KABLAM! I just got hit with the story. See, I had all these different pieces of where I want to go and how, but just now—BANG! They smacked together in my head and hit me with a full outline of WHAT TO DO. So, I know what I'm going to do now, ya'll with LOVE it, and I'd still like your opinion on my thoughts from last chapter's A/N, but I think I know exactly what to do to make everyone happy. Because I have such a clear—and amazing—idea, you need not worry that this story will ever be abandoned. :D I'm so excited!

Cozy

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Chapter 16: North Star

Harry's summer progressed, unhindered by public attention and drama. It was two weeks into his lessons with Snape, and he had learned more than he could have ever imagined.

_Your in it's mind Potter, what will you do?_

_It's all…the mind feels so….alien!_

_Of course it does, it's a transfigured spider! Kill it._

_How?_

_How does a thing live?_

_Breath, blood, heart…Oh! Harry immediately cut off a single artery, and the transfigured spider collapsed._

_Now imagine a _human_ mind, Potter. What else could you control?_

Harrys days were filled with wonder. A lot of the time, the wondrous things he learned were darkly wondrous—ways to kill, control, and ways to drive someone insane. But even that had its charms, if only because the extent of what the human mind was capable of, paired with magic, was astounding. His lessons with Snape were a strange mix of Occlumency and Dueling—so mixed in fact that he could rarely tell them apart, anymore.

On his own, he studied different things. He practiced controlling magic with intent only, and more often than not it went awry. But he was determined to wrestle his magical and mental ability back into the state that the witches and wizards of old had possessed—in fact, he was sure now that he was going _beyond_ their ancient abilities. He practiced creating new spells, too. Snape had warned him of the danger in shoving raw magical power into another human being—death, insanity—but he wanted to fix Hermiones conduit, and with that, he needed a spell-form to keep his raw magic concentrated, and to protect Hermione from death or worse.

At times when Harry struggled to create a spell for Hermione, she was often with him. Because they couldn't test the spell on anything else, first, Harry would only use it on Hermione when both of them were sure of its safety. Hermione was also present for more spell memorization, wizarding war tactics, and Occlumency practice. Because she could never be as good as Harry in Occlumency, she concentrated her efforts solely on protecting and blocking her mind—determined to keep both Voldemort and, most especially, Lucius, from entering. Draco was soon included in these nights with Hermione and Harry, but when the other two were off alone together, Harry practiced his own delving into ancient magic alone.

He wasn't sure why he was keeping such a secret from Hermione or Snape. At times when he discovered something new and exciting, he was exceedingly tempted to share with them, and his secretiveness seemed silly. But sometimes Hermione or Snape would look at him in a calculating manner, as if they knew he was doing something dangerous, and that more than anything made him hold his silence.

His breakthroughs were coming at an almost frightening pace. After the first one, where he was able to hold a globe of fire in one hand, it seemed as though he had broken through a mental block. He still couldn't use magic only with intent with much accuracy, but he felt the potential in himself. He thought that, with practice, he could even command a creature of magical form….well, a small one.

His private, self-taught lessons did make him uneasy. There was no getting around the fact that he was messing with dangerous things—that he could burn himself to a cinder if he went too far, and that kept him from going too far, too often. But still he pushed.

He and Snape had not had another night like the first one, and Harry was loathe to break the easy comradery that they had established so soon after. He knew that he would have to, soon, or else Snape would get to thinking he could just ignore Harry's physical advances, but still Harry would be sad to see things change. They both joked, even if the humor was extremely dry and sometimes gallows humor, and they managed to not insult/anger one another _most_ of the time. He was having _fun_ with his lessons. They were still extremely challenging and wearying, but they were no longer the bane of his existence, since Snape had become less cruel.

Then came a night that made Harry's decision to push Snape on the issue unnecessary. Harry and Snape had been sitting on the couch with a drink—firewhiskey for Snape, orange juice and vodka for Harry—when Snape had grimaced and clutched his arm, sloshing his drink on the carpet.

"Is it—?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes," Snape responded tersely, immediately standing to leave.

"…I wish…I wish you didn't have to go." Harry said quietly.

"Wishful thinking will get you nowhere, Potter," Snape snapped as he grabbed his robe and threw it around his shoulders.

"I know," Harry said quietly. Snape opened the door and ordered him out, but Harry stubbornly refused. The older man couldn't afford to waste time, so he slammed the door and left Harry feeling riled and nervous. The boy stood to pace around the room, unsure of what to do and unable to stand still. He didn't want to drink himself into a stupor, or go to sleep, because he had no idea when Severus would be back or what the man might need—medical attention, comfort, or a strong drink.

Harry settled for doing his summer homework. By the time he had finished, three hours had passed and Snape had yet to appear. Harry contemplated using his link with Voldemort to view the situation, but he decided against it. There was no point in alerting Voldemort about his awareness of Death Eater meetings—that could only end poorly. He stood to pace again, drinking a sip of his vodka to settle his nerves.

Finally, near dawn, Snape stumbled in the door.

"Potter! I told you to get out!" Snape yelled, dangerously close to losing control. Harry stood his ground.

"You're hurt, or sick. I'm not leaving you like this," Snape didn't have the patience or mental ability to argue. He half-ran, half limped into his room, and Harry soon heard retching coming from the bathroom. He knew Snape wouldn't want him to see that, so instead he walked to the linen closet and removed two towels, a washcloth, soap and shampoo. When Snape returned from the bathroom, clawing at his shirt, Harry stood waiting by the bed.

"What's this, Potter?"

"I thought you might want a bath. I'm sure it might help. But if you're in danger of becoming unconscious, don't do it." Snape grabbed the bundle in Harry's arms.

"I wouldn't have thought," he sneered, once again limping towards the bathroom. This time Harry followed. Snape rounded on him once he had set the towels and soaps on the counter, glaring.

"I don't need a nursemaid, _Potter_," the tone was incredibly condescending and scathing, but Harry didn't flinch.

"You're limping, you might need medical attention and your mind is shot to shit. Let me help. It's not like I've never seen you naked before, Severus." Snape opened his mouth, likely in order to give Harry a much-deserved tongue-lashing, but Harry stepped inside the room, closed the door, and turned on both taps in the oval tub.

"_Mister _Potter, regardless of our unusual relationship that is henceforth _over_, I'm not inclined to currently suffer your presence. _Leave_." Harry looked at the older man beseechingly.

"You know how it feels to be helpless when other people do work that you feel you should be present for! _Please_ let me do this much." Once again Harry avoided direct confrontation of their 'unusual relationship', using a different tactic altogether.

"Were you supposed to be in Slytherin, by chance?" Snape muttered angrily as he began to disrobe. Harry gave him his hooked smile.

"The hat said I would do great in Slytherin, but I asked it to place me in Gryffindor." He responded, relieved that Severus was no longer fighting him.

"No wonder," Snape muttered again.

When he saw the mans body, he gasped. Severus was peppered in bruises and cuts, his leg was twisted at an odd angle and there was a long, deep gash from his left shoulder to his right hip.

"Used my own spell on me. Repeatedly. Healed me just enough to where I wouldn't die." Snape grumbled by way of explanation, bitterness apparent in every word. Harry didn't know exactly what he meant, but he got the gist. Before Snape climbed into the steaming tub, Harry stopped him and put his hands on the taller mans shoulders.

"Wait, I think…I think I can heal this…" Harry bit his lip in concentration.

"Potter! Don't you dare try to use intention magic on me!" Snape warned.

"No, I've been studying healing magic, 'cause it would be useful in battle. Wands limit what a person can do, but if the spell is nonverbal and wandless, I can do much more. Please let me concentrate." Snape stayed silent, and after five minutes he felt a cool, rushing feeling trickle from his shoulders downwards. When he looked, his bruises were fading and the cuts scabbing over. Soon the smaller injuries were almost completely gone, and the large gash was knit together to look like it had been given three-four weeks of natural healing. Snape sighed as the cool feeling ran out of him, leaving him strengthened and in less pain.

"Thank you, Potter," he said with a derisive tone.

"I'll need to touch your leg specifically to untwist it, so you might as well get in the bath." Harry said unnecessarily as Snape slowly lowered himself into the water.

"Is there lavender in this bath, Potter?" Snape demanded as he raised his leg out of the water and towards Harry. Harry ducked his head sheepishly.

"It's supposed to be calming," He muttered, putting his hands on Snapes leg.

"I'd much prefer to be distressed, than to smell like lavender," Snape grumbled, and harry chuckled. Despite himself, Harry's presence and surety was calming. The boy was competent at healing, and it was a far better situation than allowing Pomfrey or the headmaster to heal him. He found that he wasn't as embarrassed or ashamed with Harry tending him, because he had seen the young man in similar—often worse—conditions. His leg soon felt supremely better, and he found himself relaxing.

Harry leaned against the wall, still sitting on the edge of the tub as he stared off into space.

"I got a taste of how it must have been for you, when the Order and I went off to the ministry. I managed to complete all of my summer homework and _still_ pace a path around the living room." Harry said. Snape smirked mockingly at the image.

"You needn't have worried. This is a rather common reoccurrence." He shifted in the tub, contemplating shampoo. He was so _tired_.

"I greatly admire your resilience, then," Harry said, smiling, and deeming it prudent to refrain from mentioning Snapes own anxiety at being left behind.

"You should leave, Potter," Snape said firmly. Harry stared at him.

"Can't I stay? No—hear me out! It's nice to have someone sleep with you after something like tonight—Hermione slept with me after that night at the Ministry, and I'm sure your night was worse than mine." He held up his hands as Snape began to protest violently. "Platonically—seriously." Harry said, and Snape again refused.

"It's completely unnecessary. Thank you for your help thus far, but I'm completely capable of handling the rest on my own. Please leave." Harry had that stubborn look again—the one that Snape dreaded.

"I'll sleep on the couch." He said in a brook-no-arguments tone.

"As long as you stay out of my sight, I couldn't care less, Potter." Snape and Harry shared glare for glare, and then Harry, fuming, left.

Sometime in the middle of the night, during one of his brief periods of deep sleep, Harry had crawled into bed with him. He was curled with his back to Severus; his smooth skin pressed against the older mans side. Snape grumbled, but he was far too exhausted to work up the energy it would require to toss the boy out. Instead, he watched Harry sleep until he fell into a light and nightmare-filled slumber.

Again at dawn, Harry was tossed unceremoniously from Snapes quarters, this time with more true malice than Harry had seen in a while. He made his way anxiously to his own room, intent on finishing his rest but instead found himself too alert to sleep any longer. He could tell that whatever had happened at the Death Eater meeting the night before had profoundly affected his Professor, and he was worried. Even though Snape had allowed him to tend to his wounds and draw his bath, Harry could tell that it had been weariness more than anything that had forced Snape to give in to his persistence. Once the man had rested, he had been violently adamant that Harry no longer came down to his quarters for anything beyond lessons—indeed, he had insinuated that their lessons would no longer be pleasant and, in Snapes words, would no longer have the atmosphere of 'this foolishly false friendliness.'

Harry sat on his bed, anxious and worried, at a loss for what to do. What had happened?

* * *

After ejecting Potter from his quarters, Snape had returned to bed to attempt to catch a few more hours of elusive sleep. Now without Potters presence, insanely, his nightmares worsened.

_Yess…Severus, just like you would do to Harry…_

_Only Harry didn't make sounds like this, and he didn't taste like this, either, Snape had thought wildly, being sure to contain he thoughts even then behind an unconquerable wall._

The man on the bed thrashed, fighting in his nightmares what he could not have fought in reality.

_Isn't our Potions Master so very…proficient with his tongue, Lucius?_

_Hands in his hair, not Harry's small ones but long, pale hands, grasping his locks with a force Harry could never have exerted, pulling his head back and away._

_You wish you could have little Harry like this, don't you Severus?_

_It took all his remaining strength to keep the truth from the monster above him._

_Yes Master. He had gasped; using the desire he had felt for Harry on that one, precious night to fuel the truth of his words._

_He loathed himself._

_When we get our hands on young Mister Potter, you will certainly have first rights to him, my dear Severus. I cannot wait to watch you break him…again._

The man on the bed sat up with a gasp, shaking. Hands trembling, he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a vial of dreamless sleep draught. If only it was draught of living death.

Even with the potion, his nightmares continued unabated.

* * *

The next month was hell for Harry, as Snape pushed him farther and farther away, reverting to his normal cruelties. Harry was afraid to push the man because he was on some level aware that Snape was near the snapping point. Harry didn't know what had happened at the Death Eater meeting, but he was furious in his helplessness as he watched Snape push him away. He wanted to comfort the man, tell him that things would be okay and that whatever had happened, they could get through it together.

The thing was, Harry wasn't sure he believed that. Whatever the event had been to trigger Snapes regression, it had been horrific enough that now, a month later, he was still having nightmares. Harry had crept down to the mans quarters to listen at the door, and more often than not the screams he heard on the nights Snape forgot—or was too drunk—to cast a silencing charm sent shivers of horror through Harry's person.

So instead of pushing, Harry waited. He took the snide comments and vicious attacks uncomplaining, holding tight to his precarious knowledge of Snape true regard for him. And near the middle of the summer, he paid a visit to the headmaster.

"Harry! My boy, how are you?"

"Fine, sir," Harry said, seating himself and politely accepting a cup of tea.

"What brings you to see me on such a fine day?" The headmaster inquired, eyes twinkling.

"Well sir, I was wondering…what are we waiting for?"

"Waiting for, Harry?" Dumbledore looked concerned.

"Why haven't we mounted an attack on Voldemort and his Death Eaters? The ministry is doing a bum job, and since we seem to be the only organized effort of resistance, why aren't we doing any resisting?" Harry, feeling impotent and useless when it came to his relationship with Snape—or lack thereof—had decided to throw all his effort into the war.

"My dear boy, even if we were to be planning anything as verbose as another battle, large or small scale, you would not be included." Dumbledore was beginning to look even more concerned, and Harry cursed him for it.

"Why not? I'm useful, with wandless magic and Occlumency. I'm far more advanced than others my age and I could be a great asset!"

"You're simply too important to our efforts to risk losing you, my boy. I know it's hard to sit on the sidelines when others are out doing important work, but there will come a time when we need you, Harry. That time is just not now." Harry saw that the headmaster was resolute, and, while he fumed with helpless fury, there was nothing he could do to convince him. Shortly, he made his goodbyes and went to wander the grounds, hoping it would calm him down.

* * *

"Harry Potter," a voice called through the thicket. Harry turned, briefly wondering if the voice belonged to the centaur Firenze, but quickly discarding the idea because the voice had been too feminine. He walked cautiously towards the place the voice had called from, and stopped in wonder as he saw a beautiful, naked woman, standing knee deep in a stream. Her long hair was black as midnight, skin pale as moonlight, and he had a strange sense that she was a manifestation of night itself.

"Harry Potter." She said again, and Harry realized that her voice was incredibly seductive. Had he not been attracted to men, he thought, he might easily follow wherever she led.

"Yes, Lady?" It was unthinkable that she could be aught but a Lady; her posture and poise gave the impression of ancient wisdom as well as good breeding.

"I am here, Chosen, to impart upon you the last lines of a prophecy concerning you. You know this prophecy, do you not?" Harry simply nodded.

"_The boy with the scar/born under North Star/will decide the fate of the earth. Given his way/he will destroy and create/and all life, the chance at rebirth. Beware his intent/for magic once spent/cannot return to its holder. If the boy chooses wrong/the night will be long/ever-after a world of disorder."_

For a moment, Harry couldn't speak.

"But—but what dose that _mean_?" He blundered, overwhelmed by the implications he was able to grasp.

"Prophecy is a guide, youngling, not an explicit outline of the future. It can serve only as a warning—a vague understanding of peril or hope—than as a rule for what you must do. Your free will is _necessary_ for a prophecy to be fulfilled. This one…it is only a warning to choose carefully. I bring it to you now because you are ready, and because you are restless. Have patience…" Her form began to fade out, and harry stumbled forward, reaching towards her.

"Wait! Who—what—are you?" A soft chucked was all that was left of her, a disembodied voice.

"I am North Star." and with that, she was gone.

Harry returned slowly to the castle, and then to his room. He had been profoundly affected by the woman's strange rhyme, and he felt suddenly calm when he contemplated the months ahead. The dire warning had been enough to infuse him with patience, and he was scared enough by its implications to quell his fire for war.

Though, not his fire for learning. Making his way to the library, he angled towards the section on celestial beings and began to search for North Star.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it! I'll be jumping from event-to-event now, no longer giving a week-by-week or chapter-by-chapter until Christmas-end of 6th year. Please review!


	18. Chapter 17: Hope

A/N: Hello my dears! I have some news for you: I managed to get myself a job! It is a steady one, 5 days a week, 9am to 5pm, and 65$/day. It is a good job, and I desperately need it for college stuff. Because of this job AND the family being in town, I feel as though I have much less time than I would wish to write this story. I took today off from the job, and the family wants to see me this evening, so I've decided to write chapter 17 now, in order to make myself feel better about the gap between updates that will most likely occur. In regards to my question in chapter 15, I have decided what to do. I will make a more unstoppable Voldemort—expand _his_ character, too, and then a little something more _after_ I finish JKR's original outline. Thank you to all those who reviewed to tell me what they thought, and to yazzi for listening to me rant about my idea during the football/soccer game. I think I'm going to start giving hints in my end-author notes about the next chapter, so you guys aren't left completely in suspense.

Cozy

* * *

Chapter 17: Hope

Harry wandered morosely through the Forbidden Forest in the gathering twilight, searching aimlessly for the woman who had called herself North Star. He didn't really expect to find her, but he figured that searching was better than agonizing over a mass amount of books whose only reference to her was:

_The voice of prophecy and knowledge of time, the corporeal manifestation of the travelers guiding star, North Star, appears only at the crossroads in time, or when change is imminent, in order to forewarn the bearer of fates duties._

It wasn't much more than he had already gathered from his conversation with her, and it left him frustrated. The most irritating thing was that the book he had found the reference in; _Corporeal Manifestations of Astrological Beings,_ had cited other, more detailed works—books dedicated to North Star—and every single book that was cited had been removed from their places on the library shelves. When he inquired about it with the formidable librarian, he had received a vague non-answer that had made him suspicious.

He tripped over a root and righted himself, realizing belatedly that dusk had fallen, and he didn't know where he was. He performed a wandless orientation spell and found that the castle was directly north—the opposite way in which he had been walking. _At least I'm consistent in my rambles_, he thought dryly, turning himself around and beginning to make his way out, still thinking deeply.

His mental distraction was exactly the reason he did not see the imposing figure of a man, shadowing him, flitting from tree to tree.

Lucius Malfoy wasted no time in hexing Potter—his spell non-verbal and precise. Without a sound, Harry fell to the ground, petrified. The elder Malfoy made his way quickly to the boy, but as he reached out to grab his arm he was halted by an all-too familiar voice.

"Father!" Draco Malfoy stepped from behind a tree, looking both frightened and angry. The younger Malfoy had a wand trained on his fathers form as the older man stood slowly.

"Can you really kill me, Draco? Perform Patricide?" Draco's face was conflicted, but his wand hand did not shake an inch as he kept it pointed.

"Drop your wand," The boy said steadily, and smirked in satisfaction as he was obeyed. "Do you know, father…Harry Potter is really quite formidable." Lucius' face twisted in disgust.

"Apparently not," he said.

"Oh, you caught him off-guard, sure. But _you_ know what I'm talking about. Do you _really_ have so much faith in the Dark Lord that you're prepared to stand by his side?" Lucius smirked at his son.

"Oh yes, Draco. My master has certain…secrets, powers, which young Harry could only dream of." Draco snorted.

"Harry has something he doesn't, or so the prophecy goes. I myself plan to align with the powers that will _win_." Lucius' face curled in disgust once more.

"Do you mean the powers of a mudbloods seduction, _son_?" he spat, and Draco's face, rather than becoming vivid with rage, suddenly became neutral, as though his internal conflict had ended abruptly.

"Accio Lucius' wand," he said coldly, and the wand flew into his hand. "Harry says you don't need this, father, and I believed him." He broke the wand in half and dropped it. "Might be hard to explain to the Ministry, though." Lucius was snarling. He couldn't—wouldn't—attack his only son with wandless magic fueled by rage, but it was a close thing. "Father, I will fight you and presumably lose. Please leave now so I am not forced to die by your hand."

"Why, Draco? Why such loyalty to this…" he gestured at Harry, "this infantile?" Draco lifted his chin.

"These are good people, Father. And for once in my life I feel clean—I feel as though I'm part of something stronger and more valuable than myself. I believe in what they are fighting for—freedom to live. Such freedom you have since my birth denied me. If it means going against the way I was taught and the way I was raised, going against you and the family name, so be it. At least 'Malfoy' no longer means 'Death Eater', to those who know me." Lucius looked stricken, surprised at the blatant refusal of all he himself stood for. "You could always join us," he son said, more quietly. "Harry admires and recognizes your skills as a general openly." Lucius composed himself within moments, not deigning to answer his sons offer.

"This time, no one knows that I came for Potter. I've set alarm spells around the wards of Hogwarts, to alert me of Potters comings and goings—knowledge only I am privy to. I will leave now because I refuse to kill my only heir, but bear in mind that next time I will not be so lenient. Next time, if you step between me and my quarry, I will destroy the Malfoy name forever—the name to which you and I have both given different—and conflicting—meanings. Farewell, Draconis." With that he apparated away, leaving Draco to revive Harry and ponder his fathers' words.

Harry sat up with a cough and immediately clasped Draco's shoulder in a friendly manner still unfamiliar to the other boy.

"Thanks mate. I was very, very dead until you came along. And no need to berate me for my stupidity—I couldn't possibly feel worse." Harry gave Draco his best crooked smile, which was returned in full.

"I can imagine. Let's get back to the castle before we run into more trouble." Harry agreed heartily and for some moments they walked in comfortable silence.

"That was an amazing bloody speech, by the way. I don't think I would have had the balls for it," Harry confessed, and Draco smirked.

"Oh, from what I hear, Potter, you definitely have the balls." Harry blushed and chuckled at the double entendre.

"But still. You made Ron Weasly look like a Death Eater. Do you think he'd of had the balls to say something like that to his father, if your situations were switched? I don't. It takes an incredible amount of conviction and willpower to defy tradition and family ties. I can see why Hermione likes you so much." Draco was uncomfortable with the praise, and he shrugged.

"What, you couldn't see why before?" He asked in mock-offence, and Harry laughed. Neither of them brought up the recent confrontation again, and as Draco grew less uncomfortable, he felt the full glow of pride at standing for his convictions.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was no longer a child.

For years she had lived with her father, listening to his harebrained theories with awe, enjoying the attention he lavished upon her and reading her well-worn books. But this could not continue any longer, and she knew it. For all the dreamy gazes and slightly skewed tilt of mind, Luna was a Ravenclaw and thus ruled primarily by reason.

Of course, she was also a little sneaky, like a Slytherin, and rebelliously stubborn, like a Gryffindor. Even though it had dawned on her that most of her professed beliefs and superstitions were ungrounded and unreasonable, she stuck to them because 1) it was a misleading façade, allowing others to make false conclusions about her that usually led to them underestimating her, and 2) she doggedly defended her fathers honor with continued apparent belief in his faith. The last thing was, of course, that all the things her father believed in _could_ be true.

She had thus enjoyed the lapses into fantasy that her father so easily provided—being vehement about crumple-horned snort-stacks and nargles and the like—but in reality she did not have any convictions one way or the other on such marvelous leaps in reason. It was true, she thought, that many magical beings or creatures probably could not be detected by the human senses, and also true that one must err on the side of caution, but it did not mean that one should have blind faith in a thing she could not see.

She had grown to realize these things over her first few years at Hogwarts, and as her reasoned mind grew with knowledge, she found it increasingly difficult to deal with her fathers' whimsically blind faith in the things unproven. He began to irritate her more often than not, making her own fancies less enjoyable. At least she _knew_ she was probably wrong to imagine nargles existed—though in her case it was still advisable to avoid mistletoe. But her father had no such sense of reality. She still loved him dearly—how not?—but now, the summer after her fourth year, was the last stand.

The Daily Prophet had not printed any substantial or accurate articles on the recent actions of the Dark Lord, but the Quibbler had been provided accurate accounts from both muggles and witches—accounts that had not been printed. For most of her life, Luna had believed in the integrity of her father's paper—or at least in its sincerity. But when she found the documented accounts of Voldemort sightings, tucked away in a spelled corner of her father's desk, she had been rudely awakened to reality.

In truth, she rationalized, her father was probably scared. Not only was he getting older and weaker, but he had a young daughter to protect—both things that would minimalize if not completely halt his anti-Voldemort efforts. She knew her father was kind at heart, but the loss of her mother had made him very much afraid; afraid enough, she feared, to protect her by _any_ means necessary. He was a kind, good man, but not a reasonable or rational one. He was a scared man, and as she knew, scared men did rash things.

To that end, she decided to take her leave. The very first thing she did was secure the records of Voldemort sightings in her trunk, which she peppered with extra protection. Next, she laid a plan to change her fathers' memory and send him packing to a different country—moderately certain that she could fix the memory and have her old father back when the war was through. If she survived, that is.

She planned to go to Hogwarts, where Dumbledore and likely the main Voldemort resistance effort was stationed. Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger had all been nice to her over the years, and Luna had a standing bet with herself that Granger most likely suspected her dreamy façade. If she could do anything to fight the monster that scared her father and had likely killed her mother (her father never spoke if it), she would do it, and she knew that the best way to fulfill those convictions was by going to Hogwarts.

Once her plans were laid, she descended the stairs of her house for the last time, tucked her shrunken trunk into her pocket, and walked towards the parlor; determined to have one last, loving, fanciful evening with her fanciful and illogical father.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione called, waving at him from the entry hall. "Come here! Luna's here!" Harry hurried over, beaming at the dreamy blond girl struggling with her trunk.

"Do you want some help?" He asked, picking it up for her and carrying it easily to one of the vacant rooms that resided in the same hall as his, Hermione's, and Draco's.

"Thank you, Harry Potter," Luna replied, following him at a graceful stroll.

"What brings you here?" Hermione asked, and Luna chuckled softly as the three students stood in her yet-unadorned bedroom.

"I suspected that my father might do something rash—something that could endanger your war efforts—so I modified his memory and packed him off to France, then came here with the intent to help you in any way I can, and print a new newspaper." Again Luna had said something socially awkward—no one would normally mention such suspicions about their own family members—but Harry and Hermione simply beamed.

"That's wonderful, Luna! Well, not the bit about your dad, but the paper idea is fantastic! No one could write it like you could!" Luna beamed back.

"Thank you, Hermione! I'm very much looking forward to it." Hermione gasped.

"Harry!"

"What?" he asked, confused at her sudden excitement.

"Could you put a door in that wall?"

"That wall?" he pointed.

"Yes!" Harry concentrated, searching for the Latin phrases. After several minutes, a door appeared. Hermione clapped excitedly and walked through it, into the bedroom that was adjacent but not previously connected.

"Come on!" Hermione exclaimed from within, and the other two rushed to follow.

Hermione was already transfiguring the bed and desk chair, both of them turning into a printing press and subsequent necessities therein. The desk remained a desk, and near the door that opened onto the hallway was a large basket that looked ready to hold fresh-printed copies of Lunas' paper. Hermione put the printing press in front of the door in order to block it, for it opened inward. Pleased with herself, she turned to Luna, who unexpectedly hugged her.

"It's perfect!" the other girl exclaimed, detangling herself from the still shocked Hermione. "I'm going to get started right away!" the other two students took this as a dismissal, and left with warm words of welcome still on their lips. Luna quickly unpacked her trunk, sat down at the desk with an old-style typewriter, and began transcribing the documents she had found into something resembling a newspaper.

* * *

"Please, you two, have a seat," the Headmaster said genially, offering his two favorite students tea as they say down around the coffee table in his office. "I hear that Miss Lovegood has joined us?" He asked, and chuckled as Hermione flushed and Harrys chin set defiantly. "What wonderful news! It is of course, advisable to inform me of such matters—new persons taking up residency in this castle is certainly my business—but you must know by now that I _do_ trust your judgment. I simply need to be able to warn the elves of a new arrival." Harrys chin went back down, and he smiled.

"Of course, sir." He said politely, and Dumbledores' smile widened.

"Wonderful! I hear our Luna plans to produce a paper—she has asked me if she could use the school owls to deliver a complimentary first edition, which I of course agreed to. She also requested a list of Wizards, muggles, and squibs that would want to receive such a paper, and I have asked you two here, in part, because I would like your help in compiling it." Harry and Hermione agreed eagerly, and the headmaster twinkled madly.

"Very good then, let us get down to the great hall, where the staff, Draco, and Luna will be meeting with us in order to create this list." Dumbledore rose and the other two followed him as they made their way down to convene with the others.

McGonagall had, predictably, set a quill to instant-record the meeting, spelling it in just a way that it only recorded names—names that, magically, would instantly provide and address. The quill and parchment sat in the middle of the table, and only herself and Albus could veto a name from the list—the quill was voice-sensitive, as well. She explained all this to the staff and students as they sat themselves around the table, and the subsequent meeting went mostly according to plan. At the end, with the parchment full of nearly 300 names, Luna addressed the room at large.

Besides the professors, other Order members had been in residence and had attended the meeting as well. Sirius and Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Charlie, Bill, Molly Weasley and—surprisingly—Fleur Delacour were all present. Everyone listened as Luna spoke up, though the Order members were already half out of their seats.

"It would also be useful, I think, to put in some anti-Voldemort efforts that _are not_ a secret, in order to raise the morale of the wizarding world. Any other information on Voldemort's activities would also be quite helpful." She looked imploringly at the people seated around the table, and when the Headmaster approved the idea, everyone began talking at once. Luna set her own quill to transcribing, and listened with astute attention. The paper she planned to create would be most informative, indeed.

* * *

Harry leisurely made his way to the dungeons for his lessons with Snape. Since their last encounter, Harry had not seen him besides the brief meeting that had taken place that day. Snape had looked cold and impassive, as per usual, eyes only sparking with fire when he spoke of the Orders war efforts. But Harry had noticed an air of weariness, as though the man was not getting enough sleep, and it had worried him. He was resolved to behave as professionally as possible during their lessons today, intent not to give Snape more reason for upset, but that did not mean he couldn't attempt to stay _after_ his lessons, and gently but firmly push the man into talking.

He entered the room without knocking; sure that Snape was expecting him. He was not wrong—he was immediately greeted by a curse that he barely managed to shield in time.

"What the hell—"he cursed, getting his bearings and preparing himself for the next one.

"Draco Malfoy managed to let slip what passed two nights ago in the forest, Potter. I thought I had taught you better than that, but I see I was sadly mistaken. We will rectify that now," without pausing in his litany or showing any signs of strain, Snape fired two more curses at Harry, who deflected and retaliated with barely-concealed clumsiness.

"What—he told you that?"

"By accident, Potter, but nonetheless…" Snape threw the Crutiatus, and Harry blocked and retaliated with the same—which predictably did not touch his Potions Master.

"While I enjoy the dueling, Professor, I have some things I would like to discuss with you."

"I'm not interested in _talking_ to you, Potter," the man said disdainfully.

"Well, if you would _listen_, you might be interested in what I have to say!" Harry shouted. He didn't block the next curse in time, and ended up writhing on the floor for five minutes under acute pain. When it was over he lay panting, Snape pacing near his head.

"What is it you think would interest me," Snape asked with not a little sarcasm.

"I went out in the woods after meeting with Dumbledore to walk off some stress…" Harry managed to catch more breath and continue as he sat up and moved to the couch. "When I met this beautiful woman with dark hair and fair skin." Snape stopped pacing and turned.

"Did she seduce you?" he snapped, imagining the thousand and one ways Harry Potter could have been harmed. Strange, beautiful women were often dangerous.

"No, she told me a prophecy and when I asked who, or what, she was, she faded out and laughed then said 'I am North Star.'" Snape looked sharply at him and then took a seat as Harry continued.

"She looked like she _would_ have been pretty seductive, if my tastes ran that way, though." Snape ignored this.

"What was the prophecy?" he demanded, and Harry recited it for him. Snape was silent for a moment before Harry asked him what it could mean.

"Just what it says—don't be stupid, rash, or rush in to something without knowing the consequences. Not like it's a great help; the rest of us have been telling you that for years and it hasn't made a lick of difference." The venom in Snapes voice stung, and Harry looked down.

"You know that's not entirely true," he said quietly, and Snape accio'd his scotch before sighing.

"No, it's not. But you are a damned magnet for trouble. I take it that's why you were in the forest so late, and what was occupying your mind?" Harry nodded.

"I looked up North Star in the library, first, but most of the books on her had been taken off the shelf. Frustrated, I went for another walk in the forest. I didn't really expect to come across her again, but I needed a way to walk out and think through my problems."

"next time, try Hogsmead," Snape snapped. It seemed his Professor was not entirely over the anxiety that Harry had caused with his thoughtlessness.

"I will, sir. Not that I'll be going _anywhere_ anytime soon. It's going to take a while for Dumbledore to detect and dismantle the alarm wards Lucius put on the surrounding grounds." Snape nodded.

"True."

They sat in silence for a while, with Snape drinking and Harry wishing for a drink. Their lesson seemed to have degenerated into a silent sitting session, and Harry wasn't at all put out by this development. To be honest, he had been in no mood for more lessons when he knew his professor wasn't getting enough sleep—wasn't top of his game, as it were. Harry much preferred to discuss other, more personal topics.

"Sir?"

"_What_ Potter?"

"Uh, we first, why do you react so vehemently to my using the word 'sir' as a supplication-type question?"

"Because you and Granger seem to do it so often, and I'm not favorable to supplicant-like questions. There's usually a catch, or at the very least, unpleasant." Harry snorted.

"Oh. That makes sense. Next time I'll start with, 'can I ask you a question?'" Snape nodded.

"Better."

"So, can I ask you a question?"

"I doubt I can stop you." Snape grumbled, and Harry chuckled.

"I'm sure you could if you _really_ wanted to. This is kind of a delicate subject."

"If you're under the impression that I would enjoy talking about the most recent Death Eater meeting with you, Potter, you are sadly mistaken." Harry didn't hesitate, but he did choose his words with care.

"Not exactly; I wanted to talk about the possibility of resuming…a relationship with you…but I'm afraid that the most recent meeting probably has bearing on that subject…considering how you acted once you had gotten enough rest for the energy to be vile towards me." Snape would have laughed at the careful phrasing if it hadn't been such a painful subject.

"Potter, can you imagine what I _see_ when I look at you, sometimes?" He snapped, going for brutal honesty. Harry flinched, but didn't turn away.

"I probably can't, not really. But I'd like to…fortify you, with some _good_ memories."

"Impossible, Potter." Snape wasn't looking at him, staring into the fire as though the memories were so vivid he could not look away. Harry hated the expression on the mans face—hated Tom Riddle for the suffering he had caused them both, and desperately wanted to turn the tide that seemed to rage in this man sitting next to him. He turned, placing one leg up on the couch at an angle and leaned forward. He didn't dare touch the man—not yet—but he made it obvious that he wanted to.

"Can't we just…try?" his voice was oddly vulnerable, and Snape finally looked at him. The need—the hope and desire he saw in Harrys eyes nearly undid him, and it took all of his control not to reach out and touch Harry.

"It wouldn't end well." He argued, quite firm in this conviction.

"Would you rather have a bit of happiness, eventually quenched, or a life of misery, soon ended?" Harry asked, looking stubborn again.

"At least one can accustom oneself to misery, Potter. Happiness is only that much more painful once obtained and taken away. You're _such_ a Gryffindor sometimes." Snape didn't seem to mean that in a good way.

"So? I'd rather be in a lot of pain, but have good memories, then never have good memories and then _die_." Harry said furiously.

"Happiness isn't for men like me, Potter." Snape said with such finality, such conviction, that it made Harrys heart ache. Finally he moved, throwing one leg over his potions masters lap and straddling the startled man, grasping him by the shoulders and leaning close.

"Men like you?" Harry growled, attacking the mans mouth with his own. When he pulled away for breath, he only moved lower, to Severus' neck. "Men who risk their lives every day for a cause they believe in? Men who do unspeakable acts—tear their psyche up in the extreme—for the sake of much needed and valued information?" Between every few words, Harry kissed more of Severus' neck, drawing a line with his lips up to the mans ear. "You deserve happiness more than anyone, fleeting or not," Harry said quietly, and was rewarded by a slight shiver. He pulled back to stare into the black eyes of Severus Snape, eyes that sat in a blank face, but expressed the smallest hint of emotion. Fear? Pain? Hope? Harry couldn't tell, but he gave the man a smile.

"I am Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived-to-irritate-you and the apparent savior-through-stupid-but-heroic-stunts-that-leave-me-half-dead. Reputedly I am the _most awesome _and most _heroic_ figure of our little anti-Voldemort campaign, and if _I_ say I want you, then you can't be _too_ horrible." The self-mocking and falsely egotistical tone of Harry's voice made Snape bark a derisive laugh. Harry's smile softened. He retuned to kissing the older man, since he had yet to be dumped on the floor.

Though Snape did not move to touch Harry, he _had _kissed him back, and the boy noted with satisfaction the change in the mans breathing and the growing erection in his lap. Pulling back, gasping, and not unaware of his own erection, Harry searched Snapes face.

"Try?" he panted, glasses slightly askew over lidded eyes, dark hair mussed in its erratic disorder and sweeping across his brow. Snape gave a brusque nod before actively pulling Harrys mouth back to his, arms wrapping around the boys back. Harry groaned into the kiss and rocked forward, elated at his success.

They would try.

* * *

A/N: and there it is! Please review—I'd REALLY like to know what you think about my Luna! Next chapter: Harry and Snape fumble towards something like a relationship, lessons continue, summer closes, Luna prints her first edition of her paper and Voldemort gets bigger and badder. Luf! Xx


	19. Chapter 18: Phoenix Ascending

A/N: I started writing this yesterday morning before work, which I normally don't do because I don't like to break up chapter-writing, so please let me know if it seems choppy. Work yesterday was bomb, and I'm making a lot of money and feeling good (I've never had a job I LIKED). Today I have off before I am GONE Sunday-NEXT Saturday, so I wanted to finish this for ya'll before I disappear. There will also be a moment—sometime in the next month—where I switch this old pc out for a new laptop. All my writing is on the external hard drive, so it shouldn't be a problem, but in case it is I want to give you a heads up. Please review!

Cozy

* * *

Chapter 18: The Phoenix Ascending

The Phoenix Ascending

An honest newspaper for those who demand the truth

**The Activity of You-Know-Who**  
By: Anonymous

These reports came to this reporter through reliable sources, and she had transcribed them through thoroughness and accuracy, to bring them to you in a single form.

The first documented activity of the Dark Lord was of course, his return. Harry Potter was taken to a muggle graveyard via Portkey at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and subsequently subdued by a Death Eater named Peter Pettigrew (better known as Wormtail); one of the most dangerous serial killers known to the Wizarding Community. "He's actually a pretty big wuss," says Harry Potter, with first-hand experience of the man. Nonetheless Mister Potter was forced to give blood that night, as the bone of Tom Riddles father and Wormtails' hand was also added to a noxious, bubbling cauldron. Voldemort's return was marked with much ado by his followers, but when the dark wizard released Harry Potter in order to duel with him, the young man managed to escape.

After this incident, the Dark Lord lay low for quite a while. Many compiled sources—most likely obtained through much danger and hardship—are able to tell us that between his return and his appearance at the Ministry, the Dark Lord began to once again collect followers. Though it is not yet known if he has managed to seduce the Giants or the entire community of Werewolves, it has been confirmed that he has made several pacts with the Dementors, certain more rabid werewolves, renegade vampires and _several magical beings in their corporeal forms_. It can be assumed that those magical beings are what we would call 'dark', that he most likely does not have an elemental on his side—they tend to remain neutral—but that he is also highly dangerous. An unconfirmed report also states that he is currently employing incubi as well.  
After his appearance at the Ministry, the Dark Lord began to move publically. The confirmed reports thus far received state that there have been no less than three muggle torture rampages—burning towns, collecting muggles in order to harm them—and five sighted dark wizarding rituals. As the reader may know, such dark rituals cannot be entirely concealed for they give off a magical signature that can be felt for up to two miles around. Those wizards who were brave enough to investigate such a signature and send word, you are thanked dearly. No less than twenty Dark Marks have been reported seen over various homes and administrative buildings; this is not a war waged in secret.  
The last and most frightening things are the unconfirmed—but numerous—reports of strange, dark, and repetitive dreams. Though they seem to have no true bearing on the war at hand, this reporter finds it disturbing that such a large amount of people are experiencing the same dark phenomenon. This reporter encourages all witches and wizards to hone what little skill they have in Occlumency, and to practice it each night before bed. We do not know what these dreams mean, but it is troublesome in the extreme.

For all of you who were unaware, frightened, or simply neutral, this is the story. The Dark Lord is on the move, and it will take all of us—not just Harry Potter—to deny him.

**The Anti-War Effort  
**Anonymous

In brighter news, there are things being done. Not by the Ministry, as one might think, but by a core group of private citizens led by one member of the Wizengamot. The anti-war campaign carries on as these brave men and women search out supporters with all wizards and races. Their first great victory was the duel whose end was witnessed by ministry officials: through heated battle, not one member of the anti-war effort was lost, and twelve of Voldemort's supporters were killed. Though we have reason to believe that Voldemort's' powers and supporters have grown, the Battle of the Ministry was a mighty victory nonetheless. The anti-war campaign currently works on battle strategy and tactics, training and getting more support. Other, more secret operations are also afoot, and the sign of these honorable people is enough to move the heart with hope. All of you private, anti-war supporters who manage your own efforts, you are thanked with upmost gratitude and invited to join the larger effort.

To subscribe to this paper, respond with whatever money you think proper, and a note bearing your wish to subscribe. If you would like to contact and join the anti-war effort, also respond to this office. If you have news, a report, something to add, or any relevant information pertaining to the war, please feel free to write an anonymous letter, addressed to this office.

*Note: The choice of title for this paper is in reference to the longevity of a Phoenix, paralleling the forces that rise against Voldemort; love, honor, justice, truth, and compassion. That which sets itself against Voldemort will never truly die, just as a phoenix, and the current effort is rising on the ascent of power and hope.

* * *

Luna looked over her paper and found that it was satisfactory. Though it was short, it was also to the point. She had decided to print nothing but basic truth—which would greatly shorten something like the Daily Prophet, she thought with a grin. Sighing in satisfaction, she set the paper down and began to concentrate on breakfast. The other members at the table—a mixed group of professors and Order members—were reading her paper as well. The 300 other copies had been sent out early this morning with the school owls, and she waited patiently for responses.

Most of the members around the table had finished reading, and looked up to congratulate her on her first edition. Hearty smiles went all around as everyone agreed that the paper was an excellent idea and source of information. They would have to screen the responses, they said, to make sure nothing nasty got through, but really it was an amazing addition to the anti-war effort. Sirius Black looked quite pleased at Harry's quote about Wormtail, she thought with a similar pleasure.

She excused herself from the table and made her way back to her 'office', excited over the prospect of initial responses. Seeing a pile of thick vellum envelopes in her 'inbox' basket, she clapped excitedly.

"Earmyion smiles!" she shouted happily, before realizing that she had no idea who or what Earmyion was. She shrugged and sat down in her chair, reaching for the first letter. Sometimes strange things popped out of her mouth or into her head, and she really did have no idea where they came from. She knew—almost instinctually—that if she concentrated she _might_ be able to find out, but she was reasonably sure that the last time she had concentrated like that had been the time that the floorboards of her house had all suddenly collapsed simultaneously. Bearing that in mind, she was not eager to get to the root of anything else that appeared randomly, and she was content to simply be the vessel for such things, Whyever they occurred.

The first letter was a subscription with seven galleons in it—the kind Mister Hardy wanted to be sure that the press kept running, the letter said. She deposited the money in her ready-made spelled lock-box, and continued.

When she had finished, she sighed in satisfaction and leaned back. Fifty subscriptions so far, all with a goodly amount of money in hopes she would continue. Eleven dissenting letters telling her they wanted no part of what she offered, and _thirteen_ new reports of Voldemort or the anti-war campaign. She had responded to all of them cordially, thanking them for their time, and most of them for their support. Just as she was about to rise, a house elf popped in with a large basket of even more letters.

"The headmaster says Troby is to bring the miss her letters from the big basket in the owl-nest, Troby is! Here is the misses letters!" Sighing, she thanked the little elf and sat back down, realizing just now what an effort this would be to do by herself. She began to muse over obtaining some assistance—perhaps she would print ready-made letters that thanked people for their time/support, and perhaps she could coerce some other Ravenclaws to assist her when school began once again…it would not do to fall behind…

As she set to the reading of more letters, the money in the lock box grew to such amounts that she realized she would need to acquire a vault at Gringotts—or at least commandeer her fathers vault. Luna sat steadily through most of the day, answering letters, compiling notes, and organizing the large amount of reports that were brought to her.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was contemplative today. He was not often in such a mood, but after the scene with his father he was forced to sit in his room and think.

He had not been raised to be a Death Eater, as most people thought. Certainly he had been raised with the impression that Malfoys' were superior purebloods, that muggle-borns were worse than nothing, and that to be a Malfoy was to be part of the elite. But most of his childhood, he reflected, had simply been fun. He'd had the usual lessons—dueling, table manners, dancing, and 'how to act in public', but he had spent a large majority of his time roaming the grounds, playing with other, acceptable children, and having innocent fun. He had been told the tale of Harry Potters defeat of the Dark Lord with a look of curiosity and awe on is fathers face. He had been raised to angle towards advantages and to do whatever would give the Malfoy name a higher standing. He had been coached to befriend Potter in his first year, when it looked as though the Dark Lord would never return. Lucius Malfoy saw the tides in politics as easily as some saw it in the sea, and he was nothing if not ambitious.

But on his first day at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had turned Draco's friendship down. Initially he had been hurt, even vengeful. He had never been turned down in his life, and it had stung horribly. After a year or two of his revenge—which now seemed very petty—he had began to wonder _why_ he had been turned down. He had begun to study Potter and his friends, wondering what Weasley and Granger had, that he didn't. He realized it was quite simple; Granger, at least, wasn't what Harry would call _mean_. When he had unexpectedly befriended Granger, he had begun to study his own actions, reflect on his own ideals and upbringing. He realized that they sounded incredibly high-minded, snobby, and…false. There was no true honor to the Malfoy name, he had realized—and such realization had been a blow indeed.

Even though his father had spoken of honor and pride, he had never really followed his own words. His father had loved him, in his way, and the occasional bed-time story when Draco was a child had always revolved around heroes fighting bad guys, morals, honor, justice, and truth. Draco remembered those stories almost sadly. As a child, he had thought his father and mother were excellent examples of the heroes in his stories. It had not been pleasant to find that his father was a villain, but it also made Draco angry, rebellious even. He was determined to bring back what _he_ thought was honor to the family name.

Granger—Hermione, had helped a lot with that. She never showed him disdain or revulsion, had never gotten angry at him when he had done—or said—something flippant and hurtful. She seemed to _know_ his heart, that whatever else he seemed to be, it was all for show. And she had slowly, but surely, coaxed him into becoming one person, instead of two. One person that he felt, with time, he could be truly proud of.

Draco Malfoy was not usually one for contemplation, but today he was glad for it as he sat on his bed, and smiled softly at the memories of that girl, that irritating, beautiful, intelligent and wily girl.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy paced within the confines of his private study, fuming. When his son had taken his wife to live with that bumbling fool, Dumbledore, he had simply thought it was cowardice—or perhaps lust—that had driven the boy. After the scene in the forest, he was now certain it had been an abrupt—or perhaps not so abrupt—change in opinion. He stopped pacing, sighed, and sat down with a bottle of whiskey, turning the bottle over and over in his hands.

He had never coached his son in ridiculous notions like 'stand up for what you believe in' and 'always do the right thing', no. But perversely, against most of his better judgments, Lucius felt a strange pride for the boy. Not because he had chosen to go down like a pitiful martyr for a pitiful cause, but because he had shown the family _fire,_ the balls, in defying his own father.

Lucius remembered well his own defiance of his father, when the man had been too weak, too soft, to do what was necessary to raise the family's standing. It hadn't been his joining the Dark Lord—that was something his father had approved of, way back when—but buying off members of the Ministry. For all Lucius was concerned, the Ministry was a useless piece of driveling politics; it did no harm to buy his share of power.

But the _boy_, his son. Draco. What would he do about _him_?

Lucius Malfoy was an excellent general and politician. He could lay out full battle plans in his head, switch a charge mid-strike if the need arose, and get almost anything he wanted from the government through sly manipulation. He knew he was a great asset to the Dark Lord, and he didn't mind using that knowledge every once in a while to his best advantage—such as when he had failed to bring Potter back, thanks to his own son. The Dark Lord had indeed found out about his mission, but Lucius was able to side-step any rebuke due to his standing and necessity with the other man.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Lucius growled and poured himself a glass of whiskey, taking a long pull from the glass before setting it down on the side-table. His own _son_. He loved the boy, in his way, and even though he was enraged by what Draco had done, he was proud, too. And then there was the Dark Lord.

When Lucius had originally aligned himself with Tom Riddle, it had been for power and standing. The orphaned boy that had come to Hogwarts had soon had his own fanclub—much like Potter, actually—and Lucius had easily fallen in to the group, pushing his way to Tom's right hand, and staying there. When they had left school, Lucius had been the first one Tom contacted for a reestablishment of their group—something that became more ominous as time progressed.

Originally it had been about power—physical, magical, and political. Power, standing, simple superiority…these things had been enough—and more—to keep him at the Dark Lords side. Even the more…sexually violent tortures of other people had not affected him too adversely. He hadn't quite cared for most of it—the power trip had been nice, of course—but nor had he been horrified and repulsed, either.

After the loss of the Dark Lord, he had originally been aimless, lost, without a master to look to, a leader to follow, or a cause to seek. He had found over the years without Tom Riddle that he was content with the change, perfectly happy to watch his son grow, woo his wife, and rise to power through less illegal and immoral means. But when his master had returned, Lucius had little choice but to return to his side. With a Dark Mark on his arm, it was either that or beg Dumbledore for safe haven, and Malfoys did not beg.

Now, something strange was occurring with the Dark Lord. Lucius had no proof, no way to be certain, but there was a strange aura around the man of late; a sense of power, strength that he hadn't possessed previously. And then…also something alien. Lucius was loathe to admit it, but he had begun to truly fear his master. The Dark Lords eyes had changed to red, since his resurrection. Not a bright red, but a red that was almost black, like blood spilt on a moonless night. Not to mention the Dark Lord suddenly and without warning underwent strange changes in demeanor and voice. These things had been enough to put the elder Malfoy on edge, but the most recent thing, what had truly frightened him, were the dreams.

He had heard his fellow Death Eaters speak of these dreams, these dark and terrifying nightmares that seemed real…these dreams he couldn't _quite_ remember when he woke. Intrusion of a wizards dreams, or projecting your own dreams or memories into another person while they slept was not only a huge violation but a frightening show of power. The fact that Lucius could not block them with Occlumency was testament enough to the power of these dreams. Not only the Death Eaters seemed to be affected, either. He had seen reports brought to the Daily Prophet (before they were burned, never to be printed) of other witches and wizards with these dreams. One report even stated that the entire muggle community was having them—which Lucius found incredibly hard to believe, but all the more terrifying if true. Muggles and Wizards in the neighboring countries had begun to experience them as well, which—if they were indeed caused by the Dark Lord—was nearly incomprehensible.

The dreams alone would not have made Lucius suspect, but coupled with the other things; he had begun to wonder of Tom Riddle was…entirely himself.

And now his son had aligned himself with this puny, weak, and almost laughable effort to confront and kill the Dark Lord.

Lucius Malfoy drank.

* * *

Harry and Severus were seated at the couch, both with their own drinks, not talking. That morning Snape had kicked Harry out around 8—far to early a time to be waking during the summer, in Harry's opinion—in order to make it to breakfast before Snape showed up. They had both read Lunas paper and found it pleasing before going off to separate tasks during the day, and when Harry had returned to the dungeons after dinner, Snape had been surprised to see him on a night they didn't have classes. He hadn't shown his surprise, of course. He let Harry in and they had both arranged themselves on the couch, not talking.

"Is it necessary for you to be here _every night_, Potter?" Snape sneered, wondering why Potter—Harry—was being so quiet. Snape realized he actually depended on Potter to start their conversations; what do you talk about with a teenage boy that doesn't involve the war they were both caught in the middle of? Harry gave him that cursed hooked smile.

"I want all the time with you I can get, before classes start again and we need to start being all sneaky." Snape started at the reminder.

"We will not be meeting while school's in session!" he snapped, almost rising to throw the boy out on the spot.

"What, you don't want to have your way with me in your classroom? In lieu of a detention, perhaps?" the mental image Harrys words produced were tempting, he had to admit. And it quelled any wish to throw him from his rooms. An agreeable shiver crawled up his spine as he looked at Harry, wearing those terribly over-large clothes, comfortable and in repose on _his_ couch in _his_ quarters. He quite liked the sight, actually.

"Certainly not, I'm sure it's written somewhere in the rules that professors are not allowed to take advantage of their innocent—though delectable—students." Snape smirked. Harry gave his own shiver at Severus' tone and looked up at his professor with an almost wicked look in his eye.

"Innocent?" he asked, and Snape's returning smile was rather slow and mocking.

"Well, I can think of a few ways in which you're innocent," he said, and the blush that crept over Harrys cheeks was a pleasurable sight.

Harry mumbled and looked down, and Snapes smirk grew wider.

"Either way, Harry, we're not doing this …" he waved a hand between the two of them, almost lazily, "during school." Harry was still looking down.

"We'll see," he muttered, and Snape snorted, more amused by the petulance than enraged by the implication that his words were not set in stone.

"I suppose we will." He replied, making it sounds as though he was patronizing Harry for his delusions. A thought struck him.

"Why do you wear those ugly things?" he asked. Really it was a good question, and unrelated to the war. He knew Harry had money—the Potters had been rather well off—so why hadn't the boy bought himself new clothes when he had come into his inheritance? Harry looked at his clothes, surprised by the change in topic.

"I uh…I guess I didn't really care, before. I wore school robes most of the time, and when I was at the Dursleys, there was no one to see me, so it didn't really matter." Snape nodded.

"I see." He said.

They sat in silence again until Harry moved, realizing belatedly that Snape wouldn't come on to him without obvious permission. He gave that permission.

And in the morning, he set off to buy some new clothes.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's so short—I've got a pounding headache and really need a nap or something—maybe water…Anyway, I wanted to get this out today because I promised. Tell me what you think! Next Chapter: Harry breaks the rules (again), school starts, things heat up, and perhaps some interesting developments with the Order.


	20. Chapter 19: A Candid Proposal

A/N: It's 6:30am again, and I don't have to leave for work until 8-ish. I think I'll start writing as much as I can every morning, that way I can keep up (you know, I woke up early specifically for this). Everyone so far has said that the last chapter didn't seem choppy, so waking up early before work seems like a good solution to my I'm-very-busy problem. The thing that made me want to write today—and yesterday, and the day before, and all the times before that, and back and back and back—was the reviews. Reading the reviews I get during the night—while I am passed out unceremoniously on the couch—make me want to jump back in and get back to writing. There are several people who leave very detailed and long reviews, and those more than anything make me open up the word doc. So thank you, you lovely people!

Cozy

* * *

Chapter 19: A Candid Proposal

School had started only a week ago, but to Harry it felt like ages. He was not as weary by the end of the night as he had been the year prior, but the days of classes, extra lessons, and Order meetings had begun to blend together into once seamless stream of events, without the concept of time. His inclusion into the Order meetings had been something he had rejoiced at, but after a week of hearing about the goings-on, unable to do anything but 'stay safe' and 'study hard', he was beginning to think it was useless.

Snape had barred Harry from his quarters two days prior to the start of school, explaining that he had lessons to plan. Harry thought the prefatory distance was more to remind Harry that their relationship—such as it was—was over for the course of the school year than anything having to do with Snapes lessons.

He was pleased to find that he had passed potions with an O, however, and that he would continue with advanced potion making. A few of his lessons with Snape had centered on potions—mostly antidotes—and those lessons, with Snape being no more cruel than he could help, had actually paid off in his OWL's.

Harry sat now in his Advanced Potions, last class before lunch and his subsequent free period, and sighed. Having made an O in this subject, he had expected to do better in it than he had previous to fifth year, but he found he had an altogether new problem to contend with. He couldn't stop watching Snape.

He wasn't being obvious, of course; there were many ways a person could _look_ without actually _staring_. But Snape made it nearly impossible to concentrate on his potion; stalking about, using that deep, mocking voice, irritation and anger evident in every line of his body. Stress and the fact that he had to teach 'puerile adolescents' the basics of an art most students weren't interested in probably made the Potions Master more frustrated, more irritated, and more angry than anything else Harry could picture.

The worst thing was, Snape had noticed Harry's scrutiny. Since it had been going on for the entire week, and Snape was nothing if not observant, it probably hadn't been hard for the man to figure out. But it seemed to put him more on edge; he seemed snappier and angrier than usual. Harry wondered idly how this man made such a good spy if he got edgy when someone watched his every mood. Of course, Harry amended, most people watching Snape weren't a randy sixteen year old boy. That might be the difference.

When class ended, and Harry's half-finished potion was bottled and left on Snapes desk, he had turned to leave when Snape called him back. Harry stayed behind as the rest of the class filed out, making the usual 'ooohhh' noises that all teenagers seem to do when a teacher or administrator calls a student to stay behind. It was the universal 'oooh you're in trouble' sound, and the inanity of it—the childishness—nearly caused Harry to turn and shout "we're in a war, goddamn it! Is that all you have time to think of? My misbehavior?" but of course, he didn't, and he almost immediately felt bad for thinking it. _They_, at least, were still just kids. It wasn't their fault he had been shoved into a position where acting his age would likely get him killed.

"Potter!" Harry winced as Snape paced quickly back to his seat behind the desk.

"Yes, sir?" Harry asked, certain he knew where this was going. He felt a magical shift for a moment, coming from Snape, and when he probed he found that there was a silencing spell in place. Crafty man.

"This needs to stop, Potter. While I'm aware that you're not an exemplary student in potions, I know you can perform better than this…" he waved a hand at Harry's putrid, purple vial, "this atrocity. Whatever the reason for your distraction, this ends now." Harry felt himself growing annoyed at the implication; that Snape didn't know what it was that distracted Harry every day, that the man would act like Harry was a normal student.

"I'm not really sure how to avoid distraction, sir," Harry said, keeping his irritation under control.

"Then _learn_, Potter! Do you think the Dark Lord, or any one of his followers, will make allowance for your _distraction?_" Harry stared, mouth agape.

"Are you going to turn this into a lesson in war, professor?" he asked, raising his voice, completely disbelieving. Snape growled and angrily rose to his feet.

"If I must! You cannot afford distraction, boy!" Harry was getting angrier.

"I can't afford to be a teenager, I can't afford a little normalcy, when I'm in a relatively safe environment in a roomful of other teenagers?" he shouted, and momentarily felt glad that Snape had cast the silencing spell. Snapes face twisted into a smirk.

"I doubt there's anything _normal_ about staring at your potions professor like a half-starved ingrate, Potter." Harry spluttered before finding his ground.

"Not true! People get crushes on their professors all the time!" Snape moved swiftly and grabbed Harry by his shirtfront, pulling their faces together until they were but an inch apart.

"Is that what this is, Potter, a _crush_?" he snarled. The feeling of Snape pressed against him, snarling at him, something he dreamed about almost every night, made Harry slightly delirious. He pushed himself closer, aligning their bodies and reaching his hands down to grasp his professors hips, harshly bringing them together.

"No," he growled back, his growl turning into a groan as he felt the other man harden against him. He stumbled as Snape shoved him away.

"Learn some self-control, Potter." The man said as he stalked towards a side-door.

"But—" Harry fumbled, trying to think of a comprehensible protest.

"I expect your next potion to be adequate, boy!" and with that, Snape had left the room. Harry sagged, his knees wanting to give way. Now what would he do? He couldn't very well go walking into the great hall with such an obvious erection, not after so many people had heard Snape call him to stay after class. He looked around for a moment, vaguely wondering if Snape would come back anytime soon.

He spotted the mans chair and sat down behind the desk, stroking himself lazily through his trousers. Probably not, he decided. Snape had likely gone to lunch; with those heavy, overlapping robes, no one would notice _his_ erection.

Decision made, Harry began to unbutton his trousers, squirming in the chair until he had found a comfortable position.

What the man didn't know, couldn't hurt him, he thought with a satisfied smirk. Sitting in his professors' chair, in a locked and silenced room, he began to stroke himself to orgasm.

* * *

Several days later, after many increasingly difficult attempts to stay focused in class, Harry Potter's potion was finally adequate.

Snape stood over the boys' cauldron, thinking with grim satisfaction of the day he had chided Harry on his distraction. Apparently it had worked, for here sat a potion that most people would have found nothing wrong with. As a potions master, his standards were higher and he saw several flaws, but they were minute and unrelated to the effectiveness of the potion—merely the potency.

Potter had a smug look on his face, and his eyes seemed to say 'so there', but even though he longed to wipe the look from his face, he restrained himself. It wouldn't do to have the boy getting _distracted _again. He gave a brusque nod and continued on to the next desk, where Miss Granger sat. Her potion was only slightly better than Potters, but he didn't bother to nod at it or even acknowledge her. She was a bit too excited over her own intelligence, and needed no encouragement, he thought.

As he crossed the room to examine the Slytherins' potions, he was halted mid-stride by a vision that was literally forced into his head.

_Harry in his chair, trousers undone and dropped round his ankles, one leg slung over the chairs arm and head tilted back against the edge of the frame, erection in hand, slowly stroking himself to orgasm. As his pace sped up, groans came more frequently until the final—"Professor!"_

The vision ended abruptly and he concentrated on his breathing for a moment before he whirled to find Potter sitting in his own chair, one leg again slung over the arm, one hand resting on his thigh, a mite too close to his obviously bulging crotch. His smug look had not vanished, and the sight of his lazy repose was enough to send warm heat down to his groin, which honestly didn't need any encouragement after such a vision. Snape glared at Potter, and other students were slowly turning to see what the stand-off was about. Harry saw his peers' interest and took his leg off the arm of the chair, scooting the chair forwards in order to hide his erection, and placing his hands on the desk. The smug look never left his face, and his eyes never left his professor.

"Potter! You will stay after class and scrub cauldrons throughout your free hour and your lunch!" Snape snapped. He turned back, reviewed the Slytherins quickly and, to be honest, hurriedly, before dismissing everyone four minutes to the bell.

Everyone except Potter.

"Tell me that was a fantasy, Potter," he said dangerously after the other students had left, and his locking/silencing spell had been put into effect.

"Nope," the boy said smugly, rising from his chair and walking around the desk to lean against the front of it.  
"What in the world gives you the idea that such actions are anywhere near appropriate, Potter!" Snape couldn't decide whether he was more outraged than aroused, or vis versa.

"Oh, I never for a moment considered it _appropriate_, professor," Harry responded in a low voice, and it took all of Snapes willpower not to jump him right there. "But what was I _supposed_ to do? You left me in the room, alone, with a convenient silencing spell and an incredible erection. It was a safety precaution, really. I couldn't just walk into the great hall with an obvious boner when so many people had seen me called to stay after class with you. I thought you'd be rather proud of me, for thinking ahead." Snape stalked forward and pressed himself to Harry, pinning the boy to the desk. Harry sagged and groaned, rocking his hips forward against his professors own hard on, unable to speak.

"Insolent _boy_." Snape growled, fingers working at the buttons on Harrys robes, only to find that the boy wore no shirt. He pushed the robe off and away, growling as he attacked Harrys exposed neck with his mouth. The boy gasped and his breathing increased as he tugged weakly on Snapes own robe. Knowing he couldn't undo the buttons in his present state, he removed it wandlessly, thinking that disrobing his professor was perhaps the best use for such magic, yet. Snapes skin on his was enough to make him moan, and his hands reached up to cover every inch, finally resting on the mans hips has he tried desperately to pull them closer.

He noticed in satisfaction that both of them had been disrobed to their boxers, and gasped as one of Severus' roaming hands found his engorged member.

"Is this what you want?" Snapes voice purred in his ear as the long fingers began to stroke him. Harry nodded—unable to respond verbally—and thrust desperately into the hand. Snape turned him, pushing his torso flat against the desk and pressing his cock into the cleft of Harry's ass, the hand on his own member never changing its rhythm.

"Oh! Please—that!" Harry gasped, wanting Snape to have him—_all_ of him—right there on the desk. He felt the man spread his cheeks with one hand, the other one moving to grip Harrys hip. Harry groaned at the loss of contact, but pushed his ass back against the hand touching him there, desperate and wanting.

"You want _this_?" the man above and behind him asked, and Harry whimpered as one, then two fingers entered him.

"Yes! Please—" Snape muttered a wandless spell that coated his erection in a slick substance, and then removed his fingers.

"Why?" he demanded, panting. He didn't want to wait for an answer, wanted to take Harry right here in his classroom, but he needed to know, to be sure.

"Want—you..." Harry bucked his hips against the desk. "Please…want you to…possess me…" That was all the answer he required, and without further hesitation, he thrust into the boy.

Harry cried out, the mingling pain of penetration and subsequent pleasure at being so full, so _taken_, left him dizzy. When Snape didn't move right away, he pulled himself forwards and pushed back.

"Please!" he cried, nearly in tears from the tension, from being so close yet so far from release. Severus complied, reaching around to touch Harry's heated need and began to stroke.

After only several minutes of the coupled pleasures, Harry spent himself in his professors' hand as he called the mans name, lying exhaustedly against the desk when he was through. Two more thrusts brought the other man to orgasm, and Harry's body tingled as he felt Snape release inside of him. The two stood there for several minutes, neither of them moving as they regained their breath. Finally Snape pulled out, muttering a spell that cleaned them both off as he began to redress.

Harry stood shakily and began to put his own clothes back on, and by the time he was done, Snape had finished and sat at his desk to begin grading more papers.

"I've got to go study and it looks like you've got work to do. I'll see you tonight, Severus." Snapes head snapped up, a full glare and protests at the ready, but Harry shook his head.

"Uh-uh. We are both rather adequate at hiding something like this easily—what's it compared to spying? I want to come down there tonight, I have my own bedroom so no one will miss me, and the headmaster already gave us full permission. Oh, and I'll make sure I finish my homework, first." Harry grinned. Snape still glared, but he nodded before returning to his work.

Harry smiled to himself as he walked from the room. Had Snape put a healing spell on him? He thought for sure that he'd be able to feel _something_…

* * *

Harrys' second week was far better than the first, with several days spent in the company of Severus Snape, but he still felt restless. He felt that something was coming, something bad, and he was proven right when Snape stood from the couch one night, hand clutching his right arm.

"I have to see the headmaster," he said by way of explanation before disappearing into the floo. Determined, Harry followed him, and it resulted in him falling into his professor as he exited Dumbledores fireplace. He had never been good at floo. Snape caught him and held him steady while he righted himself, grumbling about stupid boys and their heroism. The headmaster watched all this and predictably twinkled.

"What can I do for you, my boys?" he asked. Snape stepped away from Harry, still growling, and reported.

"The Dark Lord has called his followers to him, with an extra message for me; stating not to attend for fear of revealing my place as a spy. They plan an attack on Gordrics' Hollow, tonight, in four hours time." Albus did not look particularly surprised.

"Gordrics Hollow has greatly increased in population density, after the Potters…" he glanced sharply at Harry before continuing. "We will need to organize a defense immediately. Harry, I'm afraid you can't—"

"Bullshit!" Harry snapped. "You'll need me! If Severus can't go then you'll be outnumbered by way of occlumence and wandless magic, you'll be slaughtered!"

"Harry—Potter—" both Dumbledore and Snape started simultaneously.

"Don't you 'Harry' me! I'll get my ass over to Gordrics Hollow one way or another, so either include me in your defense, or watch me show up in the midst of battle and possibly get killed!" there was a ringing silence when he had finished, and after a moment Dumbledore inclined his head.

"Very well, Harry. Severus, you may of course sit in with the planning." Severus ground his teeth, but nodded. Sooner or later the strain of being left behind while that _boy_ went into certain death would cause him to break his ties with the Dark Lord, spying be dammned.

* * *

The scene was overwhelming. The battle that raged all around him included citizens, people who were never a part of the war, people with children and quiet lives. But they fought, and they fought all the harder for their own home—the Order members could not compete for fire with people defending their homes, children, and wives. The melee was phenomenal. Harry fought amidst his fellow Order members, with the citizens behind them, Voldemort nowhere to be found.

Harry tripped over bodies as he continued to attack the mental barriers of the Death Eaters one by one. His own mental walls were strong, but those of the Death Eaters were weak in comparison. It took around five minutes for him to break through and kill them as Snape had taught him. But there were more Death Eaters than both Order members and citizens together; Voldemort had been busy, and as a result they were being slowly pushed back. Harry decided to narrow his target, and began searching for mental walls that were stronger than his, ones that could only belong to Lucius Malfoy.

Once found, he began to push. His strength was weakened by the previous exertion, and he tapped into his reserves as he struggled mightily against the apparently impenetrable strength of the other man. He caught Lucius' eyes through the throng and their eyes locked as the other man began to push back. Harry was sweating profusely as he stayed locked in the mental battle, and it looked like Lucius was using most of his strength as well. Suddenly Lucius broke the link and turned back to the larger battle. Harry kept pushing, but he was unable to get through as the other man ignored him and allowed him to use up his power. If he could only get _closer_, he could use a simple Avada Kedavra spell at close range. But enough bodies, but of the Order and Death Eaters, blocked his way that he returned his attention to the larger picture.

He didn't know how long the battle lasted, but when it was over, the Death Eaters fled, Harry was exhausted. He stumbled around, listening to the calls of the injured and cries of those who were suddenly without a mother, father, sister, or brother. His head spun, and before he could move to help the wounded, he collapsed himself.

* * *

Waking up in the hospital wing was a disturbing experience, when his last memories protested that by all rights he should be dead. Struggling to sit up, he looked around. The wounded from the battle had been taken here, in order to avoid more publicity and keep the hurt wizards safer than they would have been at Mungos. Family and friends gathered around the other beds, and Harry saw he had his own friends nearby.

Luna, Hermione, and Draco were asleep in the chairs next to his bed, and Snape…Severus was standing at the foot of his bed, glaring at him.

"Care to explain yourself, Potter?" He asked dangerously, and Harry gulped.

"I uh, over-exerted myself, that's all." He stuttered.

"All?" the soft whisper was far more terrifying to Harry than any other tone Severus had ever used.

"Yeah…" he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking." Snape sneered mockingly without a need to feign the disgust evident in his features.

"Have you, Potter? What a remarkable feat. One would think you were incapable, after what you pulled last night." Harry winced.

"Look, Se—Professor. I'm sixteen, I'm not at all experienced in war—"

"Exactly why neither I nor the Headmaster approved of allowing you to join the battle." The other man rebuked.

"Right, except you guys _need_ me. So I think, it might be good, if you, uhm, came with me, next time."

"Potter, such actions on my part would jeopardize—" Harry interrupted him.

"I _know_. And your…information is incredibly valuable. But I think, maybe, my connection with the Dark Lord could give us some insight, on occasion, and…I don't want—I mean, I think it would be more productive if you were an active part of our efforts on the battlefield. Not having your skill with wandless magic and Occlumency out there is a major flaw."

"And of course you want me there to _protect_ you, Potter." Snape spat, unable to comprehend losing his pace as a spy; work he had once considered his salvation. Harry shook his head.

"_I_ wont be too fussed to die—I'll be dead, wont I then? But it would be nice to fight beside you." Snape gave Harry a level look.

"I'll consider it, Potter. In the meantime—" Harry put up his hands to plead silence.

"I know, I know. Don't be stupid and rash. Got it." He grinned, and Snape frowned.

"Good." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room.

* * *

It wasn't _stupid or rash_, really, Harry thought as he made his way silently across the grounds towards the anti-appiration wards. He _had_ thought it through, after all. Perhaps it was a bit risky, yes, but Snape had never made mention of _risky_.

He exited the grounds, turned on the spot, and vanished. When he spun into place in front of Malfoy Manor, he made his way around the grounds once, probing for the unique magical signature of the older Malfoy, and checking to be sure no one else resided in the house. There were several other weaker signatures in the ground floor, but Malfoy seemed to have locked himself in an upper room, and Harry didn't plan to stay long.

"Potter!" Lucius hissed, reaching out instinctively with his magic to find Potter blocking his advance. The boy stood in the middle of his study, for all the world as though he had come for an evening chat. Lucius dropped his attack and sat back down, indicating the chair opposite himself and checking the wards on the door.

"Thank you, Lucius," Harry said cordially, taking the seat and crossing his hands over one knee.

"May I ask what brings you here so late, Harry? I was under the impression that you were quite worn after the last battle." If the boy was going to use his first name, he'd be damned if he stood on ceremony. The boy smiled and inclined his head, giving Lucius acknowledgement for his skill, knowledge, and power.

"Indeed I was, but thankfully I've recovered quickly." Lucius raised his brow and summoned a bottle of wyrad-made wine.

"Indeed, quite thankfully. Wine, Harry?" the boy smiled at him again.

"Yes, please," he responded politely. Lucius wasn't sure what this was about, or why he hadn't taken advantage of the situation and incapacitated Potter, but he was too intrigued by this development to be hasty. He handed Harry his wine, taking a drink of his own first to show it was not poisoned. Harry toasted him and drank his own, complimenting it as he set the glass down on the table.

"I will be candid with you, Lucius, as you have always been with me." Lucius thought back to the few conversations they had shared, and realized that Harry was in fact correct. He waved a hand, inclining Harry to continue, and said nothing. "The frank truth is, you are an excellent general. With you on _our_ side, we would greatly increase our power. I am wondering quite openly whether there is anything that could convince you to come over—permanently." Lucius gave a mocking laugh. He had to admit, Potter had balls, alright.  
"And work for that fool, Dumbledore? No thank you Potter, I assure you I am quite comfortable where I am." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You needn't work for Dumbledore, Lucius. I am asking you to join our side—and our side is against Voldemort, not necessarily with Dumbledore. Certainly he heads the Order of the Phoenix, but you need not join the Order, to be against Voldemort." Lucius leaned back, intrigued despite himself.

"Go on,"

"Dumbledore is the leader of the main resistance, but as we saw at Gordrics Hollow, our resistance grows smaller as the Dark Lords expands. I want to place you in a position where you could work _with_ the order if you chose, where you _would_ work with me—that part's non-negotiable, sorry—and where you would be able to collect and gather your own army, arsenal, whatever you require to do the job I set for you." Lucius had to admit, the boy was daring. It was likely that no one knew where Harry was, that was taking a stab in the dark for his _own_ good, looking after himself because he didn't trust Dumbledore. An admirable, Slytherin trait, that.

"And what task would that be, Harry?" Lucius asked, taking a sip of his wine. Harry followed suite before answering.

"To defeat the Dark Lord by any means that do not inspire or created a greater darkness, or problem, that puts the lives of innocent people in danger."

"Lives are lost in battle no matter what, Harry. Innocent or not."

"I said without creating or inspiring a _greater problem_. I understand lives will be lost, but I do not want to exchange the threat of the Dark Lord for a greater threat." The boy had seriously thought this out, Lucius mused. Most people would not think to add that detail, assuming it was obvious. His respect for Harry grew.

"And I would answer to you, I assume?" he mocked. Harry shook his head.

"No, you would answer only to yourself. I merely require an unbreakable vow to use all your power and recourses to complete the task I set." Lucius was startled by this.

"All my power and recourses? You will not require me to either complete it, or fail?" Harry smiled sadly.

"If you fail, you die. Likely, you could die by those requirements alone, but no, I'd never give you a do or die ultimatum." Lucius swirled his wine thoughtfully, and Harry waited.

"Why do this?" the man asked finally.

"Several reasons. The first is that you are an excellent general, Occlumence, and wielder of wandless magic. You would be an invaluable asset to our cause. Second, you turned away from me at the battle, rather than push me to breaking—that alone led me to believe my idea had a chance. And lastly, I believe you love your son. Besides the fact that said love is probably one of the only moral qualities you still currently possess, I never had a father. I had an uncle who beat and molested me. Draco _had_ a father, and he's chosen a life without you for a life formed of his own principles. That's admirable. But I see his sadness, sometimes. And I care about him, Lucius, which you might find hard to believe. I can understand missing a father, even one I never had—I know that loneliness well. I do not know Narcicssa well, but I also believe she misses you, from the looks I sometimes see on her face. From what I know of her, she is a strong, proud, and powerful woman—much to be admired, as well." Lucius sat, thinking over Potters little speech. Finally, he took a breath and spoke.

"_If_ I were to agree to this, Dracos' training would become my responsibility. He would no longer be a part of that puny Order. I require the help of Severus Snape to fortify my home, as well as that of my wife. We, as a family, would live here." Harry nodded.

"Perfectly reasonable. Should I give you time to think through my offer? A week, perhaps?" Lucius nodded graciously and Harry stood. The other man stood with him, and they bowed to each other before Harry disappeared, and Lucius sat down to think through the most drastically life-changing offer he had ever been given.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

A/N: What do you think? Pleaaase review :D

Note: a friend reminded me that Lucius and Voldemort were not in school together; I will be revamping chapter 18 as soon as I have the time.


	21. Chapter 20: Sex, Love, and Lucius

A/N: Question for you serious HP Fanfiction readers—mostly slash, I think: Is the talking mirror in Harrys dorm bathroom ever mentioned in the books? Or is it solely a Fanfiction phenomenon? I see it A LOT in Fanfiction, but I don't remember it in the books. I think the first time I saw it was with an author, Triola (don't quote me on it), and I've seen it around—on different websites too!—a lot. It's kinda rare for a common added-in character/artifact to pop up in tons of unrelated Fanfiction, right? Did we create some magic of our own?

PS: Chapter 18 will not be revamped; I did some research and found that jk messed up her timeline with Lucius/voldemorts school years. That means I'm keeping it *my* way lol.

* * *

Chapter 20: Sex, Love, and Lucius

After such success with the elder Malfoy, Harry was flying high on a rush of confidence. The almost political back-and-forth between himself and Lucius had given him such a feeling of competent satisfaction that he decided to make his way to Severus' quarters while he was still feeling the glow of confidence.

When he entered the familiar living room, he saw that the lights had been dimmed, and realized that the other man must have gone to bed. He shut and re-warded the door before creeping across to the bedroom. Finding his professor asleep, he took off his own shirt, transfigured his new, form-fitting jeans into flannel pajamas pants, and slipped into bed. When he was certain the other man had not woken, he slowly pressed himself into the circle of Severus' arms, and sighed with contentment.

Though he had been looking forward to talking to Severus, maybe even messing around a bit, actually _sleeping_ with him suddenly seemed far preferable; it was something they had not yet done. Soon after he lay down, he was asleep, and he did not dream.

Snape felt a warm body in his arms, and he instinctively hugged it closer, burying his nose in the others' neck, inhaling deeply. The smell was strangely familiar, but he paid it no mind. He was sleeping, after all…

Sleeping. His body stiffened. Sleeping meant his chambers, which meant that this body could only belong to Harry Potter. He sat bolt right up, dislodging the sleeping boy, who simply grumbled and snuggled deeper into the covers.

"Potter!" He barked, causing the boy to start awake.

"Wha?" was the less-than coherent response. Harry cleared his throat and rubbed one eye with the back of his hand, turning to face Severus. "What?" he asked again, this time with more success, rather dreading the answer.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed? Leave immediately." the man snapped.

"Well, I came by to tell you about something and to ask you for a favor, kinda, but you were asleep already, and looked…rather inviting, honestly." Snape glared but Harry smiled and pulled his professor back down to bed, effectively keeping him down by laying half on top of him.

"What did you come here to tell me?" Snape asked, absolutely refusing to admit that Harrys warm body, splayed across his own, was not at all unappealing.

"I went to go talk to Lucius—" Harry was cut off as Severus snapped back up from the bed, tossing Harry across his legs.

"You did _what?"_ he growled, and Harry gulped.

"I went to Malfoy Manor to speak with Lucius Malfoy in private, and to offer him a deal that he come over to our side." Harry said quickly.

"He would never—"

"But he's considering it." Snapes eyes narrowed.

"And how did you convince him to do that? Never mind convince him not to capture you." Harry bit his lip.

"Hear me out, okay?" Snape gave a short nod of agreement. "I kinda told him he wouldn't have to work for Dumbledore, or myself, and that we needed him to be our general and gather his own kind of resistance; he would work in tandem with us, and we'd each help the other with what was needed, but no one would be _working for_ anyone else. I told him I required only an Unbreakable Vow to use all of his recourses towards the end of vanquishing the Dark Lord, without creating a bigger or darker problem. I told him that Draco missed him, but had made his own choice….I basically just flattered his ego, appealed to his fathering instincts, and made sure he was aware that he'd have a higher standing with us—more power and all. He said that if he accepted my offer he would want you to help him with his wards, and Draco and his mum would go back to living with him." Snape fell back into his bed, overwhelmed with what Harry had done.

"Well, Lucius, at least, must know I work for Dumbledore…or at least, _with_ you." Harry blinked.

"What?"

"He said he'd want my help with the wards. I'm sure you agreed to that without thinking that he was testing—he wanted to know the truth about my loyalties. You probably assured him my cooperation, showing him that we were, at the very least, on friendly or familiar terms." Severus didn't have it in him to be cruel at the moment for the boys' stupidity. In all other areas, he had done supremely well with his talk with Lucius, and Snape was currently too overwhelmed with the situation to be nasty.

"Oh." Harry's eyes were wide. "I didn't think of that." Before Snape could snap that of course he hadn't thought of it, and _this_ was why Harry wasn't fit to make his own decisions, the cursed boy looked down and whispered a very heartfelt apology. Now he couldn't even be angry with the twit, damnit.

"If he decides to come over to our side, we won't have to worry. If not, we'll worry about it then. It's highly unlikely that Lucius would say anything to the Dark Lord until he makes his decision; he always enjoys having a bit of leverage." Harry sighed and moved to once again rest his head on the other mans torso.

"Next time I'll talk it over with you."

"You had better." Snape growled, and Harry shivered against him.

"Still," Harry looked up with a satisfied smirk. "If Malfoy decides to stay with the Dark Lord, that'll make _your_ decision all the easier." He realized at once that it had been the wrong thing to say, as Snapes face clouded over murderously.

"Get out."

"But—" Harry tried desperately to think of a way to fix what he had said.

"OUT!" Harry scrambled from the bed, grabbing his shirt and apologizing as he stumbled from the room.

Snape brooded in silence, unable to fall back asleep, and Harry tossed restlessly in his room, mind re-working the conversation to figure out what had happened.

* * *

A week had not yet passed, and Harry was getting desperate to fix the rift that had sprung up from his careless words. One day, near the end of the week, Harry cornered Snape after class, locking and silencing the room as he waited patiently for the man to look up from grading.

"This will get you nowhere, Potter." Snape said without looking up.

"I wanted to apologize." Harry said steadily, undeterred.

"No need, Potter." Harry ground his teeth.

"No need, when you throw me out after I had just convinced you to let me stay? I don't think so. I'm sorry I said what I did; I hadn't _planned_ for my talk with Lucius to have any bearing on your own decision. I only said that _after_ you had made me realize all the other implications of my talk with Malfoy, and it was _joking_, I didn't mean it, and I didn't intend for you to get caught in such a trap because of my stupidity. I know you probably hate not having a choice, and I'm really sorry that I accidentally forced you into that position." Snape still didn't look up.

"Duly noted." Harry growled and put his hands down on the desk on top of the papers, leaning over till he was inches from the mans downturned head.

"Would you _look_ at me?" Snape finally looked up, face carefully masked.

"I don't understand why you're getting so emotional, Potter, but I can assure you I am fine. I do not require an apology, but thank you anyway for the one you've given. If you would now leave…?" Harry growled and came around the desk.

"_Emotional_?" He shouted. Snape didn't flinch. "I—you—dear _god_ man, think about it! I've asked you to quit spying and fight at my side, instead. I've pushed you, and spent a hell of a time trying to smash through your indomitable walls. I haven't been able to concentrate in potions, or any other class, since you threw me out!" Snape blinked.

"Your hormones are certainly none of my concern, Potter."

"Fucking—god—christ—" Harry spluttered angrily. He took a few calming breaths before continuing on in a lowered tone, straining for a calm demeanor.

"If you think my _hormones_ cause my erratic and rather strong _emotional_ reaction to you, you are even more dense than I ever could believe." With that he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

When he was halfway down the hall, he sagged against a wall and sighed. What had possessed him? The stress of the past few days; waiting for a response from Lucius, more deaths, more—smaller—battles, more headaches and worst of all, no Severus, had forced him into something that was practically a confession of love.

He wasn't even sure it was an _accurate_ confession. He had never been in love, and thus had nothing to compare it with. Hell, he hadn't even had real _familial_ love. How the fuck was he supposed to know?

But it made a certain kind of sense, and all he had said back there was true. When he was being honest with himself, he knew that he wanted Snape to quit being a spy for _Snapes_ sake, not because Harry wanted extra protection on the battle field. He really _hadn't_ realized that Lucius had been testing him, but once Severus had pointed it out, he had been relieved that the man might be forced to quit. And after their fight, Harry hadn't slept well and his performance in all his classes had been dismal. But did that mean he was in love?

He didn't know.

* * *

"Hey Hermione," he said wearily as she entered his room. She sat down on the bed, took his hand in hers.

"What's wrong babe?" Harry was struck by an idea that made him look up at her with a look of sheer desperation.

"How do you know if you're in love?" She sighed.

"Uh-oh…" She muttered.

"What?"

"I knew this would happen."

"What? " Harry was getting defensive. She smiled reassuringly and squeezed his hand.

"It's okay, love is a good thing Harry. I just worry about you." Harry looked confused.

"So…I am in love with him, then?" she laughed and shook her head.

"Only you can answer that, dear. General consensus defines love as; never being able to _not_ think of them, wanting to spend every minute with them, never wanting to be without them, and strong emotional pain when any of those things occur. You can measure love through pain." Harry look startled.

"I never thought of it like that. Considering the amount of pain I'm in…" he bit his lip, and she nodded wisely.

"Have you told him?" He shrugged.

"Kinda." And as he explained to her what had happened, she started giggling.

"Oh Harry you are such a _boy_ sometimes!" she gasped. He looked affronted.

"I am not!" he proclaimed, which put her into another fit of giggles. When they had passed, she sobered up some and responded.

"Oh, you are. Now get your ass down to the dungeons, and be sure to convince Snape that it would be a _very_ bad idea if he ever let you leave." Harry blushed and nodded, and Hermione left with a wink.

* * *

Harry entered Severus' quarters without knocking. The other man was sitting on his couch, and before he could stand to demand that Harry leave, Harry had rushed to the couch and jumped on him, straddling him.

"I'm not leaving tonight." He stated, lips set in a mulish line.

"You most certainly are," Snape growled, attempting to dislodge the boy. Harry pressed down harder and set himself in a firm manner, allowing his center of gravity to be his strongest leverage.

"No, I'm not. As for what I said today…" Snapes face turned almost instantly from an angry snarl to a featureless mask, and Harry felt satisfaction at the thought that his words had indeed had some impact. "I've never been in love before, and neither do I know much about love, in general. But it _hurts_ when you're gone, or angered with me, and that's enough, right now, for me to stay. For me to _need_ to stay. Okay?" Harry's voice got quieter near the end, and once again he loathed his own vulnerability. Snapes low tone felt like a stab, when he spoke.

"Is this all about you then, Potter? Barging in here without any consideration of how _I_ might feel, making plans without me, even if they include me, forcing me to decisions that were never yours to make?" Harry groaned and rested his forehead on Severus' shoulder.

"No, it's not, and you know it. But I know you…you enjoy…spending time with me, at least some of the time. And I would never knowingly make decisions for you that are yours alone. I don't want to own your soul, Severus, not even your heart. I just want to _be_ with you." Snape grunted, again trying to dislodge the boy. This time the older man used his own tricks, and Harry went sprawling across the length of the couch. Snape bent over him, snarling.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Potter. How could you? You're only what, sixteen?" At those words he abruptly stood and went to his bar. He didn't get himself a drink but he stood with his back turned to Harry, controlling his own roil of emotions. Harry stood up hesitantly and went to stand at the bar as well, settling his elbows on the countertop and facing forward, not looking at Severus.

"Look…this is…this is terrifying to me. But I care enough to deal with that. If there's some part of this situation that I've overlooked, that I've misunderstood, please tell me what it is. I can't understand the gravity of the situation without all the facts, and honestly I'm not quite sure what you're talking about. The truth is though, if I'm not missing anything, I _do_ understand." Snape shook his head, and Harry could see the movement from the corner of his eye. The other man growled and returned to sitting on the couch, and Harry followed stubbornly, though this time he gave Severus some space.

Snape had been thinking over the best way to say what he needed to, since he realized that Harry wasn't about to let this go. When the boy had nearly _said_, earlier, that he was in love, Severus had been dumbfounded. Never before and never again did he expect to hear that declaration, even if it had been rather backwards, and he had cherished the moment—he probably always would. But as the day progressed, Snape had begun to rethink the entire thing. What he had realized was bitter, but he knew that Harry wasn't—couldn't—be in love with him. He turned towards Harry and decided to take the calm approach, looking the boy directly in the eyes.

"You can't be in love with me, Harry." Harry looked stunned.

"Are you going to tell me how I _feel_ now—?" He snapped before Snape cut him off.

"It's completely natural for you to have formed feelings for me, with the burdens and lessons we have both shared, not to mention the physical contact. However you have to admit; you're sixteen, you've barely dated—several students don't count—and you have decades of years ahead of you. One day you _will_ wake up and realize you're not in love with me, realize you want someone else." Harry gaped at him for a moment, then took a deep breath to calm his riled emotions. Snape look satisfied that he gotten through at last, and sat back to wait for Harrys rampage.

"You think so, do you? Look here, Severus…One, I'm rather cautious about declarations of love. I've told you already that I don't know what love feels like, so I can't be sure. I _know_ I can't be sure of how I feel. I know how old I am, and what could happen. But right now, I feel damned positive. The only way to be certain about how I feel is time—time I'd like to spend with you. If you want to be quit of me after the war—assuming we both live—then I'll do my best to see if I can feel this way with anyone else. If I can't, I'll break down your door, wherever you're hiding. But for right now, with things so uncertain, death probably imminent…what does it _matter_, how I feel? Can't we talk about love—the kind of love that whispers forever—_after_ forever is an actual possibility?" Snape was, again, rather lost of words. When did Potter ever become romantic? Right, he was a Gryffindor. Silly question.

"I don't want to talk about feelings right now, not until I'm in a better position to understand my own. Why do we need to complicate things right now?" Snape was still quiet, and Harry started wondering if he should have handled it differently. Perhaps his denial that there was 'anything to worry about' had produced an effect that was unintended. As the silence stretched, Harry decided to take action, and once again straddled his professor, who did not move. He grabbed the other man by his shirtfront and brought their faces incredibly close together, but not touching.

"I don't want to talk about this now because only time can fix your protests. But I know how I _feel_ Severus, and I'm willing to wait it out until you believe me." He realized he was growling, and decided that it was time for the conversation to be diverted. He brought his lips down and kissed the older man, not deterred when he wasn't kissed back. His hands roamed and as he felt Severus grow hard beneath him, he groaned and rutted his hips forward.

"Please…" Harry managed to gasp.

"Please what?" The voice of his professor was only slightly breathless, but Harry still felt a shiver of pleasure at the dark tone.

"Touch me—please—I want—" Harry didn't need to finish. Snape pushed him over onto the couch, falling upon him with deft hands that made Harry buck up against the mans thigh.

"You, just like this, Potter. Only for me." Snape growled as his mouth found the soft flesh at the base of Harrys throat, his hands already making quick work of the boys shirt. The sight of the boy, nearly delirious from his touch, was something he wanted to savor.

"Yes! You." Harry moaned as the hands slipped his trousers down and began to touch him. Snape moved his head down to lick Harrys ear.

"_Only_ me." He growled, unable to restrain his possessiveness, unable to imagine _anyone_ but himself touching Harry this way. Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and took a quick intake of breath as he felt one of his professors long fingers enter his hole, the other hand still delicately stroking his erection.

"Only ever you," he managed to pant as he began to rock his hips backwards onto the probing finger. Determined to see more of Severus, he quickly disrobed him once again with wandless magic, this time leaving the other man completely naked. Snape growled and pressed their bodies harshly together, biting Harry harder on his neck than he normally would have. However Harrys responding body and subsequent hiss were enough to tell him that Harry enjoyed it.

Harry squirmed and groaned as the finger was pulled out, only to be replaced by two more. Harry knew that if he was going to get what he wanted, he'd have to ask before Severus kept on with what he was doing.

"Let me—I want to—" His words were lost as those fingers brushed a bundle of nerves deep inside of him, and it took all his willpower not to come at that touch.

"What do you want, Harry?" Snapes voice was low and silky, and Harry found it even harder to breath, though those fingers had pulled out of him, giving him the ability for more coherency.

"Want to—to taste you," Harry gasped. The hand on his erection made it difficult to voice those words, but it was what Harry wanted more than anything else, what he had dreamed about.

The sight of the boy—and the words on his lips—were enough to make the older man lose what little control he had clung to. He stood and Harry followed him eagerly, slipping to the floor on his knees. Twining his hands through Harrys soft hair, he groaned and leaned his head back as the boys tongue darted out to taste his leaking member.

This was nothing at all like the first time, when Harry had taken to him under the influence of the Imperius and his own depraved need. Nor was it like the second, where Harry had been unsure and cautious. Harry seemed to know what he was doing, now, and the effects were the height of pleasure.

Harry seemed to be hissing—in parsletongue again, and it made his hands tighten in the boys hair, drawing him closer with a restrained amount of forcefulness.

When Harry had finished, he sat back on his heels with his eyes closed, making a deep sound of pleasure in his throat.

Snape watched as the boy unconsciously licked his lips, and incredibly felt a second stir of arousal. What was Potter _doing_ to him?

The thought was lost momentarily as he looked down at Potter and saw that the boy had stroked himself to orgasm while his mouth had been stretched around Snapes own erection. The sight was certainly enough to make Severus' cock twitch.

Harry muttered a wandless cleaning spell and stood, smiling cheekily up at his professor.

"I'm staying the night," He stated, and Snape glared.

"It's a school night."

"No one will miss me; I have my own room, remember?" Snape muttered something about the headmaster and his meddling while he wandlessly returned their clothing to their bodies. He realized as he did so that Potters pants actually fit him; in fact, they looked quite snug, and _new. _The tee shirt he was wearing was also rather form-fitting and most certainly not used.

"You got yourself some new clothes, I see." Snape drawled, and Harry, for some reason, blushed.

"I thought about what you said, and you were right. Actually, I don't want to wear this anymore…" And he rummaged in his bag before pulling out a pair of soft pajama pants, died a solid maroon. He took off his jeans and shirt and slipped the pats on, stuffing the discarded clothes into his bag. Snape wanted to protest against the boy staying the night, but the look of him in those pajama pants, completely shirtless with the pants riding a bit too low on his hips, stopped all protests.

"Have you finished your homework?" He asked instead, moving into his own room to change into something more comfortable.

"No, I figured I'd finish it up while I'm here. I'm sure you have papers to grade or a book to read or something, I'll just set up on the couch with my work." Harry called, and Snape didn't deem to respond. Harry had set up his homework and began working when Severus returned, wearing black pajama pants and no shirt. Harry looked up as the man walked into the room and across to his desk, standing behind it and shuffling papers around. It was the first time that Harry could look leisurely upon his professors naked skin; unrushed by desire or need, and he found he quite enjoyed simply staring at the man. When Snape looked up and caught him looking, he immediately blushed and looked back down, feeling embarrassed.

He continued his work in silence as Snape found and book and arranged himself in the armchair, wondering why Harry had been staring at him so intently. Certainly, he had never shown his naked torso to any of his students, but Harry had seen him fully undressed several times; why was this different? When the question prevented him from truly getting into his book, he decided to ask.

"Why did you feel the need to stare so intently at me, Potter?" Harry looked up from his work, eyes rather wider than normal.

"I—I've always been, you know, a bit distracted around you when you're wearing less than your full robes. I was just…" He shrugged one shoulder and grinned. "Enjoying the view." Snape didn't respond and went back to his book, firmly deciding that asking a Gryffindor a question was not advisable in the least.

The two spent the rest of the night talking, something they had rarely done previously. Their talk didn't involve the war, or their odd and entangled relationship. They merely spoke, sometimes of Harry's dreams, sometimes—tentatively—of the rare, good memories of the past. The night passed in one another's arms, and soon dawn beckoned them to another day.

* * *

The very next day held an unexpected visitor. Harry had called Dobby to bring him breakfast, realizing that he would prefer to eat in the dungeons than the great hall. Snape joined him and their meal was quiet, both men preparing themselves mentally for the new day. When Harry had finished, he began to change into a spare pair of clothes he had brought with him. Before he had managed to get the tee shirt over his head, there was a knock on the door. Thinking it could only be the headmaster, Harry strode to the door and had it open before Snape could get to it.

Seeing a smirking Lucius on the other side, Harrys insides turned into a knot. He wanted to crumble, turn around and apologize to Severus for being such an idiot, but he knew that when it concerned Lucius Malfoy, a strong front was necessary.

"Hello, Lucius. Have you come to relay your decision on my proposal?" He asked, blithely glossing over the fact that, had that been the case, Lucius would have sought him elsewhere, not at Severus' quarters. Lucius was still smirking, but a tinge of admiration lit his eyes.

"Actually Harry, that _is_ one of my many errands today. However just now I was inclined to call upon Severus." Harry stepped aside and opened the door wider.

"Then by all means, please come in." During this exchange, Snape had summoned his usual robes and clothed himself, masked his emotions, and sat at his desk looking busy. When Lucius entered, the vestiges of their morning breakfast had been cleared from the table, Harry's bag was neatly packed, and Snape looked rather natural behind his desk. Harry, with his shirt half-on, was the only thing out of place. Snape stood from behind his desk as Lucius entered, inclining his head in greeting and offering a seat on the couch to the man.

"Can I get you anything to drink or eat? Have you broken fast?" Harry asked politely, rather confused when the words 'have you eaten breakfast' turned into 'have you broken fast?' Lucius did not seem at all phased by such off phrasing, and declined the offer gracefully as Harry shrugged and took a seat. Snape sat in the armchair, more on-guard than he had been in a long while.

"I am glad I found both of you together," Lucius began, pausing to allow the innuendo to sink in. "For what I have to say concerns you both." Harry ignored the implication in the first bit, and encouraged the other man to continue.

"The first and foremost thing is that I have decided to accept your offer, Potter." Harry maintained his self-control, even though he wanted to grin broadly and shake Malfoys hand rather enthusiastically.

"That news is music to my ears, Lucius. We are very happy to have you." He said with restrained excitement. Lucius smirked.

"Well, some of you are, at least. My second reason for coming is to offer you, Severus, a place in the army I plan to mass." Harry didn't seem the least bit startled, but it took Snape a few seconds to gather his bearings.

"I will give the offer consideration, Lucius. It is most generous." Lucius waved his hand dismissively.

"Of course, Severus. The crux of the matter is, I will not do this if I cannot have you in _my_ army. Otherwise, I go straight to the Dark Lord and inform him of your…obvious…loyalties." Snape nearly cursed, but held his composure as Harry spoke up.

"If you get him with you, then you get me." Harry said firmly, and Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware you were so…attached, Potter. But having you will be all for the good, I gather." Harry didn't blush, and nor did he look down he stared Lucius in the eyes and _smirked_.

"You can assume what you like, Lucius; I have my own reasons. If Snape agrees to this, then I go too." Lucius' second brow rose.

"Very well. What say you, Severus?" Snape glared.

"It looks as though I have little choice." He said, obviously the only form of agreement the other man would get. Lucius inclined his head.

"Excellent. You will of course be my right hand. I have other business to attend to, but be sure I will stop by to enlist your help with my wards," With that he stood, the others standing with him, and left with Harry very cordial goodbyes. Snape threw a bottle of scotch into the fire when he had gone, and Harry stepped over to him and wrapped his arms around the mans middle.

"You don't have to. You could stay with the Order and let Lucius do whatever," he said, a worried frown marring his face. Snape sighed.

"As much as I hate to admit it, we'll need that man." He said. Harry squeezed him tighter.

"Well, I'll be there." He muttered into Severus' shirtfront. Snape snorted.

"That's a comfort," he said with scathing sarcasm, but as his own arms wrapped around Harry tightly and pulled him closer, his words were belied.

* * *

A/N: Please review!


	22. Chapter 21: Power the Chosen Knows Not

A/N: I almost made chapter 20 FAR longer than the other chapters (which average about 5k words) to double the normal length, (10k) because I had so much to write. The ss/hp relationship took up more words than I thought possible, and had only a little time for Lucius there at the end. So, here is the other half of what would have been chapter 20.

PS: Why are there only 3-4 consistent reviewers? I'm not asking cause I'm greedy, I'm just wondering if the other people who used to review frequently are reading in silence, or if people dropped off from reading this for some reason; and if so, why?

* * *

Chapter 21: The Power the Chosen Knows Not

Harry grabbed his bag and made his way to the door, only then realizing that he hadn't given any implication of where he was going.

"I'm just gonna go find Lucius and have him do that Vow. Kinda forgot about it, with everything else that went on. Probably his intention, now that I think of it. Want to come?" Snape frowned.

"I probably should. Luckily I put a tracer on him while he was sitting there coercing me." Harrys smile broke across his face like the sun.

"I _knew_ there was a reason you were the smart one. Lets go!" Snape shook his head despairingly and followed the young man out of the room.

* * *

The Headmaster was concerned. It was not everyday that he felt an Unbreakable Vow being cast on Hogwarts grounds, and nor was it common to feel the distinct magical signature of the elder Malfoy. Reasonably sure that either Harry, Severus, or both were behind it, the Headmaster made his way down to the dungeons.

When he got there, a rather chipper Harry opened the door and invited him in. Severus looks positively mutinous at the invasion, but Albus assumed it had more to do with Harry's presence than anything else; the man was rather secretive, after all.

"Yes, yes my boy, hello to you too!" Dumbledore responded to Harry's rather excitable greeting. Severus frowned and sat in his armchair, looking rather put-upon.

"You must really like Harry, Severus, if you've been putting up with his…excitement all day." Harry wasn't exactly hyper, but he was in an excellent mood, after extracting an Unbreakable Vow from Lucius in front of both Draco and Severus. He sat on the couch and lounged back, shooting Severus a despicable grin.

"Oh, he likes something about me, all right." Dumbledore coughed and looked down, pretending to suddenly be engrossed with his shoes. Meanwhile, Snape was fighting to suppress a smirk, and Harry grinned at both of them.

"What was it you called for, Albus?" Snape asked in an arched tone.

"Right! Well, I was wondering why Lucius Malfoy was on the grounds, and who performed an unbreakable vow?" Dumbledore had to sit down and accept Severus' offer of Rumple-mints and hot chocolate as Harry's story unfolded. When the boy had finished his tale, he set his mug to the side and looked at the two men before him.

"Well! It seems we have a lot to discuss." Did the boy not trust him? He wrestled his uneasiness about Harry under control as they began to talk.

They coordinated planned meetings of both sides of the resistance effort, discussed plans and other, more inane details. Throughout the conversation, the three men paced, sat, paced, and drank—both to good cheer at having Lucius on their side, and grim understandings of the battles to come. When the conversation finally began to lag, so too did Harry, and he fell asleep rather comfortably against Severus' shoulder as the headmaster looked on from the armchair.

"He loves you," Albus said, not without some jealousy. Snape wanted to shrug, but decided against it because it would wake Harry.

"He thinks he does."

"And why is it so wrong to love you, Severus?" the elder man asked quietly. Severus stared into the fire.

"You of all people should know the answer to that, Albus." He gritted, hating where this conversation was going. Albus shook his head sadly.

"Perhaps Harry will convince you otherwise, my dear boy. I think I'll take my leave, now. Give you two some rest." Snape nodded his agreement. When the headmaster had left, he conjured a blanket for Harry and left him on the couch.

Sometime in the night, Harry awoke and slipped groggily into the other mans bed. Severus did not wake, and Harry snuggled into his arms. Even if the older man didn't know it, or care, Harry felt safe here.

* * *

The next several weeks were a blur. Harry attended his classes, Order meetings, meetings with Lucius, slept more often than not in Severus' quarters, and tried to keep his head above water. Hermione and Draco were a huge help; they knew his schedule was insane, and managed to do his homework for him when he had too much else to do—though Snape made him practice the practical application when that happened. His lessons with Severus were held after dinner, before homework, and before bed. Some nights he simply collapsed on the couch and woke up—late—in the bed, unaware of moving from one to the other.

Soon—sooner than he could ever have expected—the Christmas holiday took him by surprise. The first day of the holiday he slept in, in his own room, blissfully waking and choosing to go back to sleep. When he finally rose he felt more refreshed than he had all year, and more optimistic than he had for several years. On this wave of cheerful laziness, he packed up his trunk, shrunk it, and made his way to the dungeons.

When he got there, he found Severus lounging behind his desk in only a robe, writing what looked to be another academic paper.

"Good Morning." Harry said, his cheerfulness shining through. Snape looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"It is afternoon, Potter." Harry looked rather confused.

"Oh, well then, good afternoon." He wasn't sure what the time of day had to do with his greeting, but he supposed it made his professor happy to nit-pick.

"And to you, Potter. What would you like to do on your first day off?" Harry was rather surprised at this approach; it was friendlier, more intimate, than he had seen…ever.

"I would like to…" Harry wasn't sure how to phrase it. He knew Severus was rather prickly, and knew that he himself had to be delicate with his words in order to avoid a scene. He walked over to the desk at leaned against it, fiddling with the spare quill. "Well, I want to spend a lot of time with you; as much as I can." Snape inclined his head.

"I rather guessed as much," he said dryly, and Harry grinned.

"So to that end…I was wondering if I could…" Snape frowned.

"Spit it out, Potter." Harry winced.

"Was wondering if I could—temporarily and unofficially—move…in?" Snape stared at him.

"Move in." he repeated in a slow voice.

"Yeah, see I've brought my trunk…and I've spent most of my time down here anyway, so if it's okay with you, I'd like to just stay down here." Snape stared at him for a moment.

"Potter—" he started in a warning tone, and Harry put his hands up in supplication.

"C'mon, at least try it out! You can send me back to my room whenever you want and I'll go peacefully, promise." Snape glared.

"Fine. But I don't want you to throw a tantrum when I do." Harry looked offended.

"I do _not_ throw tantrums!" He shouted, and Severus smirked. Realizing he was being played, Harry threw his hands up into the air and took his trunk out to enlarge it, muttering all the while about snarky gits with incredible hands. A chuckled from behind the desk surprised him so much that he fell face-forward over his trunk and landed on his bum. When he looked up, Severus was _smiling_, actually _smiling_, and he looked highly amused by the boy in front of him.

Harry grinned.

"I'll fall over myself more often, if it'll make you smile," he teased, and Snapes face turned once again back into a mask, looking rather chagrin that he'd forgotten himself so completely. Harry kept grinning.

"I have nothing to do today. What are you going to do?" He asked, completely ignoring the strange look on his professors' face.

"I don't have any particular plans. Lucius has invited me to his Manor tomorrow, to help him go through his…artifacts…and ward his home. Otherwise, I'll likely read, write, and go to meetings." Harry dragged his trunk into the bedroom and came back out while Snape was talking.

"Well, I had this thought…" Harry looked cautious and Snape became hesitantly—and with great trepidation—intrigued.

"And what thought was that?" He prompted.

"Well, if you're not busy, maybe you'd like to see…the chamber of secrets? There's books down there, and—if it hasn't decomposed completely—a dead basilisk. I read that they're good for potions ingredients, and kind of rare cause they have to be birthed by a cockatrice, warmed under the belly of a toad and break the shell only at the half moon, but…." Snapes face had gone from cautious to interested while Harry spoke, and the boy needed no more urging. He opened the door and Snape followed him down to the bathroom. He asked no questions about the location; the headmaster had given him _some_ details, but he was curious to see Harry open the chamber.

"_Open_," Harry ordered the sinks, and open it did. Snape was rather doubtful about the ensuing tunnel, but he followed Harry down. When they entered the larger chamber, the dead basilisk stared at them with dead, vacant eyes. Snape recognized Dumbledores magical signature and realized that the creature had been perfectly preserved, due to the headmasters' thoroughness. Hadn't the old man needed Harry to open it, though? Perhaps a question for another time, he thought as he shook his head. The ceiling was high, and before he could examine the beast, Harry showed him to an adjacent room full of books.

The library shelves were well-organized by title and genre, and nothing had been removed. The books, too, had bee put under a spell of preservation, but Severus knew the spell was far, far older than Dumbledore.

Harry and Snape looked at the spines together, quickly becoming engrossed.

"This hasn't been reprinted since…dear Merlin it must be three centuries…" Snape whispered almost holistically. Harry understood the feeling.

"I thought you'd like it," He whispered back, pulling a book from the shelf titled; _For the Dead Don't Rise_, and began to flip through it. Becoming more and more intrigued, he took a seat in one of the dusty, straight-backed chairs and began to read in earnest. Severus found his own book, and they both sat for more than an hour, quietly reading tomes that were over a century old.

When Harry gasped and stood up suddenly, the sound pulled Severus from the deep trance he had been in since picking up the book. Flipping through the pages sporadically now, Harry made more sounds of astonishment and then looked up at his professor, eyes wide.

"I think I know what's going on!" He exclaimed, and Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Pray tell…" the older man said when Harry didn't supply anything further.

"Listen to this: _The power of seven is a tight bond and a clutch; nothing outweighs a spell of seven, not even a spell of threes. As such…_and then look! _In the matter of Horcruxes, one must be wary. Make three, the monster set free. Make five, the serpent will rise, and lastly…make seven, the Yerhn reigns essence…_essence doesn't really rhyme, but whatever. Do you think Vol—The Dark Lord has read this?" Snapes eyes were shining, and Harry felt a moment of supreme pleasure of the vitality that seemed to grip Severus.

"It could be he knew, and didn't care, or knew and _planned_ it, or it could be that he has no idea. I've never heard of a Yerhn, though?" Harry was slightly disappointed, he had thought the man might know.

"We'll look for references to it here, and in the greater library. If we can find it…_this_ might explain those dreams Lucius was talking about, as well as the…other things." Snape nodded.

"I will contact some of my colleagues, as well. Luckily, the amount of studying it took to become a Potions Master left me with a handy spell." He performed it, first silently and then aloud so that Harry could learn it. When he had finished, the whopping pile of _three_ books with the word 'Yerhn' in it were sitting on one of the chairs. Both of them took a book and began to read.

After another few hours—unfortunately the spell did not open a book to the exact page—Snape stood up and began to pace.

"Here. _Yerhn. A mythical creature thought to exist in a purely primordial form. Shrouded in myth and confusion, little is known about this creature. Myth states that the Yerhn possesses a recently dead body in order to wreak havoc and chaos upon the world. Further studies suggest that the Yerhn possesses a body _after_ reanimation; thus meaning that the soul that was originally housed in the body must, firstly, be present in another form, and secondly be resurrected to the body by dark means, in order for a Yerhn to attach itself to the existing piece of soul and be carried along back into the body. Little is known of this phenomenon…_Look here;_ the effects of a Yerhn in corporeal form are catastrophic. Muggles have reported disturbing dreams that, if not stopped, eventually lead to insanity or death. Witches and wizards with a weaker mental magical ability also experience these dreams, and any wizards connected by a magical or spiritual force to the body possessed by a Yerhn also report such dreams. Wizards are not affect to the same extent as muggles, but the varying degrees depend on mental magical ability." _Snape took a breath and looked up at Harry, who was staring wide-eyed and motioning for him to continue.

"_The other affects are a Yerhn are unclear. It is known that the balance of magic—and life itself—can be thrown off course by this creature, but all accounts vary on how much. It is postulated that the affects of the Yerhn, and their strength, depends on the body and soul in its possession. The more powerful, more evil, more good, etc. the body/soul is, the more recourses a Yerhn may have. It is unknown whether a Yerhn possession can be treated, and there are no known ways to vanquish such a beast. As far as can be told by the scattered bits of history; a Yerhn can only run its course."_

Harry and Snape stared at each other.

"That book was written centuries ago, let's go to the library and see if anything has been added." Snape nodded.

"First I'd like to take these books to my private library…and ward them in such a way that they can only be opened by parsletongue." Harry looked up at him, startled.

"You will teach me to pronounce a word." It wasn't a request, and Harry nodded.

"I would also like to salvage what I can of the Basilisk, but that will have to wait. Help me transport these." Harry helped, and when they had finished moving all the books to Severus' private library, Harry taught him to say 'Ánoigma'(which meant 'open' in Greek) in parsletongue.

Harry wasn't sure why he needed to learn a Greek word and speak it in parsletongue, but he supposed Snape was being paranoid—anyone who spoke parsletongue could probably say 'open'. The actual, direct translation was a rather long string of 'alpha, nu, omicron, iota, gamma, mu, alpha' into parsletongue, since 'Ánoigma' didn't have a direct translation besides 'open', which made it rather useless, used in direct translation. In fact, parsletongue had no direct translation for words like 'alpha', either, so it turned, directly, into; 'Ayess, Neiss, Olnss, Is, Graess, Mrass, Ayess', or something akin to the parsletongue alphabet spelling out the word Ánoigma. Harry had never seen parsletongue written down, so he could not say exactly what the words _looked_ like, but as close as he could understand it, the translation and subsequent lesson passed in a confusion of Greek intonation and parsletongue hisses.

The final password became the string of parsletongue letters said in quick succession, so that it read; 'Ayessneisolnsisgraesmrasayes." It was rather long and complicated-sounding, so both of them had to practice until they were certain they had it perfectly memorized. Once done, Harry promptly forgot the Greek word meaning 'open', but remembered the parsletongue password.

Once they had finished there and Snape was satisfied with his new upgrade to his wards, they went upstairs to being hunting through the library.

* * *

Five hours in, they had found nothing—not a mention, not a reference—and were forced to retire. They made their way back to the dungeons and collapsed on the couch, glad that the only people in the castle at the moment either never frequented the halls or were aware—at least in part—about their strange friendship.

"Why isn't there _anything_?" Harry groaned, smashing his fists against the coffee table. Snape was making them drinks at the bar, and he set Harry's in front of him before sitting comfortably in the armchair.

"Please do not break my table Potter, it was expensive," Snape smirked, and Harry gave a reluctant smile as he took a drink.

"Sorry. Gonna answer my question?" Snape drank from his own glass and sighed.

"It's likely that a Yerhn hasn't been seen in so long that the concept dropped from the world, or the books on it were destroyed. The book you found, and the few others, were centuries old. It's quite possible that there hasn't been a Yerhn possession since long before the time those books were printed, meaning it's unlikely anything about one would be in print today." Harry growled in frustration.

"But there's old books in the library!" He protested weakly. Snape shot him a look.

"Not as old as what we found." He said unnecessarily.

"Well, at least we were thorough." Harry said a mite sourly. Severus didn't deem to respond.

"How the _fuck_ are we gonna beat or kill something we don't _know_ about." Harry asked in frustrated desperation.

"I'd rather not think about it," Snape said, and when Harry looked up, he saw the other mans face had become void—closed off. He tried for a lighter tone.

"Well, we'll share our info at the next few meetings and see what others can find. Maybe something will come up." Snape snorted. "Seriously, you find the strangest things in the strangest places. Charlie is pretty well-traveled and he'll be there for this meeting before he goes to Constantinople—I mean, Istanbul. Dumbledore sometimes seems to know _everything_. If any other information is out there, we can find it." Snape seemed marginally reassured, and Harry felt better for having caused it.

* * *

The next few meetings passed, and no one had heard of a Yerhn, though Lucius seemed gratified that there was a name for the strange things that had been taking place. Everyone promised to keep their eyes and ears open, and to do some research on their own. Luna suggested they put a question to the readers of her paper, and the group agreed it was a good idea. They warned her to be cautious and not to give out all the information they had-perhaps to avoid using the name 'Yerhn'-and the matter was settled within minutes, concluding the conference.

After, Harry pulled Hermione to the side and asked her to visit him in his room. She agreed and Harry had only to wait five minutes before she entered and closed the door behind her.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about your conduit problem." Hermiones face seemed to be a mixture of tentative hope and dread, and Harry quickly rushed to explain.

"See, I was thinking, and I realized it was much more likely for purebloods to have a conduit problem than muggleborns. I realized that, genetically, it makes more sense for _you_ to possess a conduit than, say, Draco. Because of that, I started wondering about the method we used to test you—to see if you had one." She looked confused.

"Occlumency, I couldn't do it." She stated this as though it was absolute proof, and Harry shook his finger at her.

"True, but that's not really a conclusive test; there's several other reasons that could be true." Hermione shook her head.

"Like what?" she demanded.

"Like you having a mental block for some reason. My personal theory is that you're afraid of running into something you can't 'fix', like you said, so instead of testing your ability—testing to see if you have a conduit—your subconscious created a block to keep you from being able to perform the test accurately; it kept you from passing so you wouldn't have to face _actual_ failure." Hermione gaped at him.

"Did Snape help you with this?" she asked, mouth still hanging. Harry looked down in embarrassment.

"A little. He helped me with the more psychological bit, but I'm the one who postulated that the 'test' wasn't conclusive and that you could have a mental block." He said, rather defensively. She sat back against the headboard of his bed.

"So how do we test me, without my subconscious getting in the way?" She asked hesitantly, and Harry smiled.

"Simple. Severus showed me a spell that would reveal the three-parts of the magical gift. All I have to do…" He waved his wand at her, and she cringed, waiting for the finality of failure and proving Harry's theory. A disembodied voice spoke out, listing all three magical counterparts. When it had finished, Hermione looked at him with barely restrained excitement.

"That means I have all three?" She asked eagerly, and Harry grinned at her and nodded.

"Let practice!" She exclaimed, and they set to it.

Harry felt rather bad for deceiving Hermione, but he knew that if his theory was correct, there was no other way to convince her to try her hardest on the 'test'. The 'spell' Snape had taught him was in reality no such thing—he had never consulted Severus on the practical application of his psychological advice. The spell was a simple thought-projection spell, allowing Harrys primary thoughts to be voiced aloud. He had concentrated hard on the three magical counterparts, and voila they had been spoken. Now Hermione was improving noticeably—in just a few hours—with her Occlumency, and Harry gave himself a pat on the back for his craftiness—though he dreaded the moment when he would have to tell her the truth.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's shorter than I thought it would be. Here's some snarry-less plot, and next chapter is very Snarry-full. Please review!


	23. Chapter 22: Not At All Like the Rest

A/N: really random but I'm starting this chapter before 21 is finished, because an idea just smacked me over the head and I must comply.

* * *

Chapter 22: Not at All Like the Rest

As the days grew closer to Christmas and snow fell in deeper around the eaves of the castle, the inhabitants of Hogwarts quieted. Meetings were postponed for a short while, lessons for Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Luna were canceled, and the residents of the castle forced a Christmas cheer that eventually became natural and truly light-hearted. Lunas' paper went out, and as replies began to trickle in, Harry and Hermione gathered around a table with her in the great hall in order to help her sort through them and respond.

"This one apologizes for their lack of knowledge, but promises to make careful inquiries." Luna said casually. "They say they're an Unspeakable, it could be promising." Hermione and Harry both nodded agreement without looking up from their own piles of letters.

"Do you think Charlie Weasley is attractive, Hermione?" Harry and Hermione looked up, startled.

"No—I mean, I guess so, it's just—I'm with Draco and all." She stuttered, and Luna nodded thoughtfully.

"What about you, Harry?" Luna asked, once again speaking an uncomfortable truth; touching on Harry's sexuality—supposedly unknown to her—without seeming to have realized it.

"Yeah, I'd say he's rather good looking. Tall, you know, and muscular. Good build, nice eyes, rather funny and charming," He supplied, covering for Hermione's mix up. Too late, he realized that Severus was walking quickly out the door behind the staff table. Knowing the room echoed, Harry was sure the man had heard him. He winced. He hadn't meant for _him_, he was helping _Luna_! The stiff, rather quick pace Snape had set on his way out made Harry nearly certain that he had made a tactical error. He wanted to run straight out, to follow the other man and explain, but he thought it might be better to wait.

"That's what I thought, Harry! Thank you!" Luna smiled at him, though her eyes seemed too uncomfortably _aware_ for Harry's liking. "What do you think he would say if I asked to come along to Istanbul with him? You know, for research. Get a broader, world-view of the situation." Hermione smirked, now fully caught up with the situation and apparently oblivious to Snapes presence and exit.

"Oh yes, I'm sure he'd agree in a heartbeat," she said, and Luna laughed.

"Well, that's settled then." Harry kept reading through the mail, aching with something like pain at his inability to follow Severus.

* * *

"Let me in, damnit!" Harry pounded against Severus' door in frustration, unable this time to break the wards or unlock the door. "I will sit here all night if I fucking have to, Severus!" He shouted. He almost fell as the door was opened under his hands, but he righted himself just in time.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape snapped, standing in the doorway without opening the door further than necessary.

"You wanna get mad at me—fine! I don't fucking _fancy_ Charlie Weasley, okay? I was just encouraging Luna cause _she_ does. Not me!" Snapes face showed nothing.

"And why would you think I give a _damn_ about who you _fancy_, Potter?" Harry felt stung, but he plowed onwards.

"Fine—whatever—you don't! Just so you know, I don't _fancy_ anyone but you!" he nearly spat the word 'fancy', it left a bad taste in his mouth. What he felt for Severus went far beyond fancying, and the gods-cursed man knew it.

"Leave, Potter." Harry fumed. What could he say? He couldn't profess love, not with the way things were currently and how it had gone over last time. And he couldn't force his way in when the man so obviously didn't want him there.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" He asked.

"No."

"The next day?"

"Never, Potter." Harry needed desperately to regroup. Calming himself, he managed a lower and more controlled tone.

"Can I have my trunk, then? Or would you prefer I walk about naked?" Snape sneered and levitated the boys' trunk out the door before slamming it resoundingly.

Harry took his trunk and miserably made his way back to his dorm. When he got there he composed a letter and sent it off, not expecting it to be read.

Somewhere in the dungeons, a man clutched a letter in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. He had read it, and then read it again, before finally giving up and sitting in the suddenly loud silence, too immersed in his own thoughts to drink from his full glass.

_Severus,_

_I don't know why you kicked me out. The only conclusion I have come to is that you overheard a part of my conversation with Luna concerning Charlie Weasley. I was able to list his assets for her in an observant way without having a personal interest in him, and my words gave Luna the confirmation she needed to pursue a relationship with Charlie. I knew what she wanted to hear before I opened my mouth. I DON'T want anyone but YOU and I will INFORM YOU FIRST if that EVER changes._

_If there is some other reason besides this that you decided to toss me, please let me know._

_Harry_

_

* * *

_

Harry spent the next two days mostly in solitude as Luna left with Charlie—who seemed to have a perpetual grin planted on his face—and Hermione spent time with Draco. There had been no response from Severus, and he hadn't yet gained entry to the mans quarters the few times he had tried.

He found himself listening to more discs that Hermione had given him, laying face-up on the bed and staring at the ceiling. The soft, slow sound of the saxophone waxed in and out of his consciousness as he stared without blinking, thinking of everything and nothing all at once.

_Just a taste of what you're holding, for just a taste and you could own me... me._

_Here it comes, diving in to me.__  
__Now the floor is the ceiling.__  
__If you never flew why would you, cut the wings off a butterfly? Fly._

The music swam through him, and he felt as though he was falling up and sinking at the same time.

_Save your sermons for someone that's afraid to love.__  
__If you knew what I feel, then you couldn't be so sure.__  
__I'll be right here lying in the hands of God._

Through a haze of thought, Harry heard the lyrics for the first time, and idly decided they were apt.

_Fillin' me up, now drain me__  
__Skin begins to grow back slowly,__  
__faster until I'm choking._

What if Snape never took him back? He had been so angry…so closed…The acoustic guitar slowly guided him away.

_I am in love with nothing less.__  
__Tear drops of joy runs off my face,__  
__I will rise...for someone that's afraid to love.__  
__If you knew what I feel, then you couldn't be so sure.__  
__I'll be right here lying in the hands of God._

_Now the floor is the ceiling.__  
__If you never flew, why would you?__  
__If you never flew, why would you? You.__  
__Why would you?_

The song ended, and Harry felt jolted from a higher place as the static from the headphones harassed his ears. He pulled them off gently and set the entire thing aside, laying back and listening to the silence. Christmas was only a day away. He decided to find a gift for Severus and use the holiday to his advantage.

* * *

That night, Lucius called together his army. It was not routine practice and nor was it a meeting; it was battle. Snape glared as Harry stubbornly took a place at his side, both otherwise did not comment. Lucius debriefed the imposing sum of witches and wizards, some borrowed from the Order, some found on his own terms, and then set them lose.

Tonight was a surprise raid, tonight was what looked like the bulk of Lucius' army taking the offensive, and Harry liked that just fine. Lucius hadn't informed anyone of the planned strike before the summons to attend the briefing, and Harry admired his intelligence in such a scheme. Any insiders—spies—wouldn't have much time to bring word to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord had been improving his own army. The Death Eaters that were left now headed small quarters of imperiused or power-hungry witches and wizards. Their attack was targeted at two such quarters, with Snape and Lucius heading the two-pronged strike. Harry was placed with Severus, who kept him well back from the real fight—something that left Harry in quite a fit of anger, which he tried to calm by reminding himself it was a show of Severus' care; however unnecessary it was.

* * *

The raids went exactly as planned, though three members of their army were lost. Harry felt guilty pleasure that the dead were no one he knew, and felt ashamed. _Someone_ knew them, and would miss them.

Lucius informed Severus and Harry that the group they had brought together tonight was only a moderate portion of the actual army he had raised, and both of them complimented the man, impressed. When everyone turned in, Harry attempted to follow Severus, but had the door slammed in his face. He returned to his dorms moodily, where not even the thought of Christmas presents could bring him cheer.

* * *

Christmas morning brought gifts. Harry sat up eagerly in the pre-dawn light, enjoying such a childish moment with the first feeling of being carefree that he had possessed in several long years. The taint of last night wasn't enough to put him out of even distract him—he had a pile of presents!

The gift from Hermione was spectacular; a rare old book on daemon vanquishing. Though it might not help the situation with Voldemort, the spells couldn't be too dissimilar and he wanted to dive into it right away. Setting it aside, he picked through his gifts until he found the one from Sirius.

Sirius had sent him a photo album of the old Order members—mainly centered on his father and mother. He set it aside before he could get too emotional, planning to look at it another time. The next one was from Hagrid; mostly toys for his owl and a book he had found on mythical magical creatures. Harry hugged the book to himself and set it with Hermiones', grinning like a fool.

Next were Lupin, Dumbledore, and the Weasley twins. The twins had given him a nice variety of things from their shop, including instant-darkness powder (something only sold to order members and, now, Lucius' army), sneakscopes, and—intriguingly—a small set of potions. Looking through them he found a love potion (unnecessary, he thought), dreamless sleep, a potion to induce daydreams, and a very small vial of Felix—which they had covered earlier this year. Harry was so pleased with this gift that he wanted to try felix immediately—perhaps on Severus?—but set it aside to continue on.

Dumbledore had given him the few books concerning North Star. The attached note read as follows:

_Harry,_

_I took these from the library shortly after hearing the first prophecy that included you. I was waiting until you had come to me concerning your meeting with North Star to give them to you, but once again I see you've kept the encounter secret from me—if you've even had it yet. Either way I am reasonably sure you will need these in the future._

_Best of wishes,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry felt a pang of guilt for not informing the headmaster of his strange encounter, but it was quickly pushed aside as he eagerly flipped through one of the books until he realized he had still more presents to open. Getting his excitement under control, he set them aside with the others and opened Lupins'.

Lupin had given him a cleaning kit for his firebolt, which he had sorely needed. He felt sudden gratitude for the man; for giving him something unrelated to war or prophecy. Flying seemed like something from another time; he was almost certain he hadn't flown since he quit the Quidditch team at the end of fourth year. Things had seemed too complicated, too important to spend time on his broom, but the gift from Lupin had reminded him that he needed some play.

Smiling, he reached towards the last gift. The package was plain brown mailing paper, with no name and no address. Cautiously, he performed a show-your-secrets spell, and when nothing happened he opened it with upmost care.

Inside was an old, worn school book; _An Introduction to Ancient Greek_. When he turned the pages, a letter fell out and he picked it up to read it.

_Harry,_

_This was your mothers. It might surprise you to know that the two of us were friends until she found your father…and until I began to accompany would-be Death Eaters. _

_When she was younger, and before Hogwarts, she went to a private school. She would come home every day, frustrated and sad because she found it difficult to learn Latin and Greek. One day I asked to see her schoolbooks and she simply gave them to me in a fit of irritation, declaiming that she was finished forever with these gods-cursed languages. She eventually took most of them back, but I kept this one and helped her learn; she and I would study together. She was the brightest point in my life at that time—a _friend_; a foreign concept. We laughed over this book countless times as we struggled with this complex language, and I thought you might like to have it._

_Severus_

Harry stared at the letter, dumbfounded. Snape had known his mother? Had been _friends_ with her? In the early years, too? It didn't seem possible. It seemed even less likely that Severus would tell him this at all, that he would be so…open. Well, open for him, anyway. Harry fell back into his bed and clutched the book and letter to his chest, unable to form coherent thought. Was this a form of apology? It must be; Harry could think of no other reason for Severus to be so open. If the man hadn't been reasonably sure of how Harry would take such a gift, he never would have sent it.

Harry felt determined to at least read some of the old book, to see what his mother and Snape had seen. Sitting up he opened it to the first page and began to read, wondering if Severus had liked his present.

* * *

Christmas did not usually differ too greatly from other days for Severus Snape. There was the usual gift from Dumbledore, and perhaps some bauble from some of the staff, but nothing more. This morning he woke to a strangely large pile of colorfully wrapped gifts. Eyeing it with caution, he performed several spells on each gift to be certain they didn't house any nasty surprises. Satisfied, he picked up the gift from Dumbledore and unwrapped it. He took only a minute to glance at it before throwing it across the room. Meddling coot.

The book titled; _PTSD; a Muggle Perspective_ sat quietly in the corner while Severus opened another gift.

This one proclaimed to be from a Larry Dotter, which sounded too much like Harry Potter for his liking. Unwrapping it, he found a box full of his own articles from Potions Weekly. Frowning, he turned to the next one. This one claimed it was from a Sherry Votter, which made him increasingly uneasy. Were _all_ of these presents from Harry Potter under strange and unimaginative aliases? The one from 'Sherry' contained a set of books he had published and thought never to see again. They were sound books, books he took pride in, actually, but they had been printed only once before he had been titled a Death Eater, and most people who owned copies had burned theirs. How had the boy found them?

His curiosity and trepidation warred as he reached for the next one—third to last. This one was from a 'Kerny Otter', again a ridiculous, Harry-Potter themed name. Opening it, he found a large leather satchel. When he unfolded it, he found it was basically a large square of leather with deep pockets—something that could be wrapped into a roll and carried around. In the pockets he found rare potions ingredients; things he had to buy either through Dumbledore, or through a dizzying maze of paperwork and checks from the government. The satchel along was priceless. How had Harry done it?

The second-to-last gift, again with a see-through pseudo-name, held new dragon-hide gloves. Had Harry been paying so close attention that he had known Severus' gloves were wearing so thin he constantly burned himself? It looked like it.

The very last gift had Harrys' actual name on it, and he unwrapped it with care and time, his whole mind scrambling to recognize—to accept these gifts. The last gift was another leather satchel, this time with loops that kept the potion vials it contained snug and secure. There were lumps of padding between each loop, so there was no way the vials could break or make sound. Most of the vials were empty, but the six in the first row were full of a glowing white substance. A note was pinned to the middle of the leather, rather crumpled from the folding.

_Severus,_

_I thought one of these might come in handy, and that you might like it. The vials in the first row contain some of my memories—so you can _see_ what I meant in my previous letter. I had Dumbledore and his pensive help me with this, and he said you could borrow his pensive any time in order to view these. I hope you will. The rest of the gifts are of course from me; I had this feeling that you might get cranky about so many gifts from just one person, so I made insane pseudo-names for all but this one; kind of as a joke. I hope you found it funny. The very last gift—which you will find at the bottom of the box with your articles—is another mirror like the one Sirius gave me. I told you about that, right? I just wanted to have a way to contact you—see you—if this war takes us separate places. _

_Happy Christmas,_

_Harry_

Severus sat back against the headboard of his bed, utterly stupefied. He could not wrap his mind around the idea that Harry Potter had taken so much trouble for _him_. Finding the potions ingredients, his own books, cutting out his articles…Why? Why had he done that? His own gift to the boy now seemed weak in comparison; what had possessed him? The gifts Harry had given him were far more valuable than some old textbook.

Even though his mind whispered to him that an old textbook might not be much, but the letter accompanying it would be priceless to Harry, he did not listen. When his mind supplied reasons for Harrys' extensive efforts in his Christmas gifts, he shut it out.

* * *

Not long after Severus had put the gifts away in their proper places, he heard pounding on the door. Sighing, he magically dropped the wards and watched in surprise as Harry Potter burst into the room and slammed into him with force, hugging him around the middle.

"Thank you!" Was the muffled explanation from the boy, and Severus _almost_ smiled. He put his hands on the younger mans shoulders and pushed him back gently.

"You're welcome, Potter. I take it you haven't eaten breakfast?" Harry's eyes went momentarily wide as he considered the sounds from his stomach in a different light. Snape extracted himself completely from Harry and went to sit in his armchair, ordering more food from one of the house-elves. Harry sat on the couch with a grin and began to dig in; completely unaware that Snape was staring at him almost disbelievingly.

When they had finished their meal, they both sat back with a cup of coffee and enjoyed the silence.

"Potter…" Snape broke the silence, uncomfortable that he had not yet thanked the boy for his gifts.

"Harry." The stubborn set of his jaw was lightened by his smile.

"Harry, thank you for _your_ gifts. I doubt I could ever match them." He wanted to shift in his chair, extremely unused to such expressions, but he kept himself still. Harry leaned forward with an earnest look on his face.

"You more than matched them, Severus. All I ever hear about my mother is that I share her eyes, or that she was my fathers' wife, or that she loved me. It was an incredible gift, and I can see how hard it must have been for you to give it." Snape was growing more uncomfortable with the praise by the minute, and decided to lighten the subject.

"Are you planning on framing it, then?" he smirked, and Harry laughed.

"Honestly, I considered it. For now I think I'll keep it in my 'box of important letters', though." Snape rolled his eyes and Harry laughed again.

"So tell me, where did you come across my published work?" Severus asked once the mood had again turned comfortable.

"I didn't, really. Well, I kind of did some research, back when you mentioned that becoming a Potions Master was harder work than becoming Minister? I looked into your…professional life. I got the books from this very _demented_ man who did _not_ want to give them up. He seemed to think they were literally the holy grail. I convinced him in the end, though." Harry smirked, and Snape wondered what exactly Harry had done to 'convince' the man. "I had the books in my possession for a while, even read them." Severus was surprised to hear that. From what he knew, Harry was moderately accomplished in potions but not particularly interested. Harry fiddled with his mug and looked to the other side of the room, seeming intent on the desk.

"That mans name was…Aroun Deritre? Strange twist on the name Aaron." Harry didn't seem to notice Snape stiffen, and by the time he looked back at him Severus had relaxed himself once more.

"Did you know him?" Harry asked curiously. So much for the boy being unperceptive.

"He and I…were acquainted." Noticing Severus' obvious hesitance, Harry raised his hands up.

"Not my business," he amended, giving him a consolatory smile. Snape nodded appreciatively.

"What about the rare potions ingredients?" he changed the subject to a safer one and watched Harrys grin widen into a wicked twist.

"Well _actually_, Fred and George have this…agreement with some of the Ministries' herb-gatherers. You're familiar with that whole thing? The gatherers are cleared for work only by the Ministry; their work is inspected, _then_ sold to other shops for resale?" Snape inclined his head. "Well, Fred and George need certain delicate ingredients for their work on a consistent basis; they can't afford to go through all that paperwork hassle. Because of that, they've paid off some of the gatherers, being sure to have some kind of blackmail on them as well. I bought what I gave you off of them, and I also got a standing, written agreement from them that you could buy from them whenever you need to." Harry pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from one of his pockets and handed it over.

"Those twins are no end to trouble," Snape growled, though inside he was secretly please—and a little proud. "How did you find out about their deal, anyway?" Harry grinned again.

"I wanted to get you rare potions ingredients, and I knew they did a lot of work in that area with their shop. Back in fourth year I used my Triwizard money to help them start their business; just gave it all to them. Because of that, they call me their financial backer, and basically give me whatever I want. When I asked them about it, they gave me the low-down on how those ingredients are usually obtained; months of paperwork and the like. I pointed out that I'd never heard them complain of such a thing, themselves, and that I knew they had a rather smooth supply of the stuff on a steady basis. They let me in the loop." Snape nearly whistled. Such lengths Harry had gone to!

"And you told them the ingredients were for me?" Harry shot him a despairing look.

"I told them you and I were working on some potions for the war that were of a delicate nature. I said I might not always be around to buy the ingredients, and told them you would need a standing invitation as well. When they asked why _I_ was helping you, I asked them; 'who _else_ would be stupid enough to agree?' and then they laughed at me." Harry was frowning now, and Severus had a sudden burst of understanding; Harry _wanted_ to tell others about their strange relationship. But why?

"It was yet another priceless gift, Harry." He said, and Harrys' frown turned to a grin.

"Thought you might like it." He took another sip of his coffee, grimaced, and performed a warming spell.

"The memories…" Snape began, and Harry looked at him, waiting. "They're unnecessary. I don't need to see them to confirm what you said in your earlier letter." Harrys' eyes danced merrily as he smirked.

"Oh, they're not _all_ about that," he said, and Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then perhaps I should borrow Albus' pensive." He smirked, and Harry busied himself with the sugar.

The two sat for a while longer before Harry said he had a 'date' with Hermione, Draco, and her parents. He invited Severus, who of course declined, And then insisted on kissing the man goodbye and stubbornly affirming that he would be back that night—with his trunk.

Severus sighed when Harry had left. When did life become so complicated?

* * *

Harry made his way down to the dungeons, his trunk shrunken and tucked in his pocket. It had been a long, satisfying day. He had gone down to Hogsmead for butterbeers with Hermione, her parents, and Draco, and the entire outing ended in a glorious snowball fight that had tired all of them. Returning to the castle, Hermiones parents had stayed for lunch before heading out, and Draco and Hermione had retired. Harry, keeping in mind his new realization that he needed fun, had gone flying for most of the afternoon, stopping only to chat with Hagrid and pretend to sip his abominable tea. When he had come in for supper he had been exhausted, but the food had given him new vigor, and he now found himself outside of Severus' door. He didn't bother to knock, and was pleased when the wards allowed him entrance. He found his professor at the bar with two mugs.

"Hot chocolate?" Harry asked cautiously, and Snape chuckled.

"With rumple-mints. I saw you eyeing it when I gave some to the Headmaster. It's rather good." Harry took the offered mug and had a sip. His eyes widened and he took a larger sip.

"It's like mint-chocolate!" he exclaimed, and Snape smirked.

"Indeed." They sat together on the couch this time, enjoying their drink in silence. After a while, Harry opened his mouth to speak what was on his mind.

"I was thinking…" Snape almost groaned. Nothing good ever followed that statement. Harry elbowed him lightly, sensing his thoughts. "I'm serious here!" he protested, glad for the lightened mood that settled over them. "As I said, I was thinking about the other day—about the Charlie thing." Snape didn't move. "I was thinking about how you did-or-did not get jealous—doesn't matter now—and then I started thinking…" Harry turned to Severus, feeling like he needed eye contact. By this time they had both set their mugs down, and the other man looked at Harry, waiting. Harry bit his lip, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts, and worried about the reaction his professor might have. He was also worried about the spot of vulnerability his words would place him in, but he plunged on.

"I was wondering—I know the strange relationship we have has no real official title, and that started me thinking—wondering I mean, if you…if you have someone else?" Snape nearly laughed, but realized that it would be a bad move, considering how open Harry was being. Deciding on tact, he lifted a hand no Harrys face and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"No," he said very simply, keeping eye-contact and smiling inside as Harry took a deep breath.

"That's good then. The other thing…" he trailed off again, and Snape waited, still holding Harrys' face in his hand and beginning to feel uncomfortable with it.

"The other thing is, well it's pretty stupid but am I…am I just, some guy?" Snape frowned, taking his hand away, and Harry realized he wasn't making himself clear. "I mean, I could tell that your relationship with that Aroun guy was more than friendly—and I was wondering if I'm just another—another guy in a string of them, just like the rest—?" Harry was cut off from his rather stuttering question when strong hands gripped his shoulders and a harsh kiss took control of his mouth. He felt himself pushed back, into the couch, as a firm weight pressed down upon him.

When Severus finally took his mouth away to pay stronger attention to Harrys' neck, the boy gasped for air. Hands lifted under his shirt and moved across his torso, making Harry incoherent and unable to re-voice his question. He was beginning to think that Severus' goal was to distract him, make him too aroused to remember the question he had raised, when a voice growled in his ear.

"Not at all like the rest."

* * *

A/N: sorry for the quick cut off, it really is the perfect line for it. The song is Lying in the Hands of God, by Dave Matthews, and the full lyrics can be found through google—for I only used the more relevant ones here. Please review, I am nervous that Snape is to ooc! _


	24. Chapter 23: War

A/N: So, here we are at chapter 23. As you might have seen, I've written a prologue, which ff.n insists on calling chapter 23, but in reality I have moved it to the very first chapter, before Scotch and Tea. I would really enjoy your thoughts on that prologue, guys : ) As for this, sorry it took so long. I got the new laptop last week and JUST TWO SECCONDS AGO I got Office 2010—before that, all my documents opened in WordPad with a very confusing amount of html and whatnot. Now that word is back, I am back. Please review!

* * *

Chapter 23: War

Harry and Hermione were eating lunch in the great hall on the last day of holiday, chatting back and forth over lessons, the war, and their mutual friends. Harry felt a great sense of contentment as he sat and listened to Hermione going on about their occlumency lessons, and he knew that the memory of the night prior would stay with him throughout his life.

"Harry?" Harry blinked.

"Er…yes?"

"Did you hear anything I said?" When he shook his head, she sighed. "I _said_ that I know you tricked me." He stared blankly at her. "About the conduit. I know you tricked me, and I'm glad you did. Thank you." He finally caught on, and smiled.

"You're welcome," he said, and she snorted.

"Now, about this Yhern…"

* * *

Charlie and Luna returned that day, just in time for school. With them came news; more wizards worldwide were experiencing the dreams they assumed were caused by the Yhern, and more and more people worldwide were becoming frightened, erratic. Muggles everywhere were beginning upon the path of insanity. Wizards were going deeper into hiding as unconfirmed reports of major destruction began to spread. No one could find the truth in a world so suddenly disconnected, but the losses by all accounts were heavy. Some said that even entire cities had been whipped clean; but none dared to explore those areas.

It was a grim reunion, and after the Order meeting all were subdued as they left for bed. How was one to fight in the face of such destruction?

School began with a dark pall cast upon the normally pleasant day. The student population had been cut in half; whole families dead, students withdrawn from school in the face of danger, people gone missing. No word had yet come in on the Yhern; not one tidbit of information. The members of the Order, both students and teachers, walked the halls with saddened eyes. None had seen the true destruction; their minds were safe from the dreams thanks to Albus, Harry, Severus and Lucius. But all had heard the tales.

It was soon—far too soon. They weren't ready, they could not fight this. And the thoughts weighed them all down as they methodically worked through their day. That night, Harry clung to Severus, unsure of why he felt so safe there, but needing the reassurance. Severus held him and wondered what was to come.

* * *

February Second

The screams were high and long, rising in the smoky air with abandon, and though it was the souls that screamed, not the people. Few lights shone through the night; indicating those wizards left standing, left with enough power to bring light to this stricken place. There were desperately few lights shining. Harry counted as he walked among the dead; six, seven…twelve. Twelve of five hundred and ninety-seven. Lucius' army had taken a mighty blow. When they'd arrived on the field, they had expected a group of Death Eaters that numbered three hundred at best. Lucius had been cautious and brought more than enough wizards to handle them. But none of them had expected Voldemort, or the exponential way his powers had grown. The entire army had been wiped out in only a few hours; those left alive were alive not on their own merits of survival, but from the Dark Lords sudden departure, and they all knew it.

The twelve lights converged in a circle that included himself, and he could see the faces holding those wands. Snape, Hermione, Draco, Lucius. So far so good. Charlie, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsly, the real Moody, Fred, and George. He sighed. He hated that he felt relief; knowing that all his 'important people' had made it. But he did, and guilt claimed him.

Wait. Dumbledore. He had come along this time. Where was he?

"Where—" He began, but Lupin shook his head, unable to speak.

"Dead, Harry." Sirius answered, not looking at him. When he tried to read the look on Snapes' face, he could not.

"Where—" he cleared his throat. "Where's the body?" Lucius raised his wand and pointed.

"We buried him; we don't have the time or the luxury to attempt to move him now. We must leave. Perhaps we can return another time." Harry wondered at that, that Lucius of all people had helped to bury Dumbledore, but he didn't wait to ask more questions, and they left in a flurry of black robes.

Their return to the castle was greeted with horror. So many people had left with them that night, and so few had returned. Harry greeted McGonagall with sad eyes.

"Dumbledore…he…he didn't make it." She gasped; a small sound really, amidst the woeful cries of those suddenly left with nothing; those whose loved ones had died in battle.

"I'm so sorry…" Her eyes widened at his words, the look of horror upon her face suddenly replaced with acute anxiety.

"We all must leave!" she gasped, and he frowned.

"What? Why?" She took a calming breath before continuing.

"Albus named me successor, but I am nowhere near as powerful as he was. At least half the wards in place around Hogwarts will dissipate at his death, and half again are so strong I would never be able to keep them up. Hogwarts will be left mostly unprotected! The founders have their own wards in place from centuries ago; but those wards protect the school and the schools artifacts; not the children. We must evacuate at once." Harry nodded briskly to her, more horrified at the thought of an emptied Hogwarts than he had been at the scene of so much death, not twenty minutes prior.

Minerva straightened her back resolutely and began to call order to the scene. Messengers were sent to wake students and bring everyone into the great hall in an orderly manner, and soon the calm of order bested chaos, and the hall was convened. Minerva stood at the podium before the head table, looking at the mass group of students, families, faculty and creatures.

"You all might know something of our war with Voldemort. Tonight, five hundred and ninety-seven soldiers in our army left for a battle with Death Eaters. Only twelve returned." A gasp filled the waiting crowd, followed by cries and wails as students and family members alike broke into lamenting the dead. "One of those dead was our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore." She spoke over the noise, but soon the entire hall was quieted; a vacuum of sound at such astonishing, unthinkable news. "We grieve now for the loss of him, and for the loss of every Witch and Wizard lost in this catastrophe. No one could have known the way in which the Dark Lords power has grown, and we must rethink our strategies in order to better meet his power with ours. However, with the loss of our Headmaster Hogwarts is no longer safe. I have deemed it prudent to evacuate immediately, otherwise we will find ourselves once again on a battlefield not of our choosing, against a foe we are not yet ready to fight." The hall once again broke out in noise, beginning in whispers and climbing to a crescendo. Harry laid a hand on McGonagalls' elbow and she looked at him strangely before ceding her place at the podium to him. When people noticed him standing there, they began to quiet, looking up at him with so much hope—and even fear—that his heart contracted.

"I was not given a choice, when I was born and marked by Voldemort to be his counterpart in this war. When he marked me with this scar, to show the world I would have the power to defeat him, one day. I was never given the choice, and for a long while I resented that. But I see now that none of us were given the choice. That, if we choose to stand by what we believe to be right, we have no choice but to fight for those beliefs. I realize that, for whatever reason, I was marked and a prophecy voiced. I do not know what I alone can do. I do not know what separates me from you, or what gives me the power to defeat this menace when my grown professors and Headmaster have not been able to. But I am in this war with all of my heart, and I fight for my own beliefs as surely as I fight for the freedom from the duty to which I was born. I cannot promise you we will succeed. I cannot reassure you that I know exactly what I am doing. But I can tell you that I will be here, again and again, over and over, fighting against the Dark Lord who took so many lives, until I either win, or I die. That, I can promise you."

The entire hall had held their breath as he spoke, and when he had finished it sounded as though a large beast released a breath of air. Soon after the clapping began, and cheering. Harry returned to the area behind the head table where his twelve friends waited in silence. He fell in besides Severus as Minerva began to speak once again, dispersing orders for evacuation with calm efficiency.

"Seems they've got their idol back," Snape snapped, and Harry sighed.

"They need something—someone—to believe in. We all do. If it helps them to believe in _me_, then so be it." The other man was silent, but he grasped Harry by the shoulder as if to agree, and Harry relaxed. The last thing he needed was for Severus to assume he was vying for attention.

"…directly through the main entrance with an adult or seventh-year—" McGonagall was cut off mid-sentence as a large sound that was not a sound forced a halt to all talk. Not three seconds later and the screaming began.

A rush of bodies, a warm, long-fingered hand. Worried brown eyes as they were swept away in the throng. Screams, rising over the din of confusion. Crashes. Black, so black. Black as night.

"Through here," Hands pushed Harry into something like a tunnel, and he felt his way around the edges to keep from stumbling forward. Slime and something spongy greeted his searching hands, but he pushed forward, knowing it was perhaps the only chance of survival. Severus came in quickly behind him, muttering a wandless light spell that light the dark and revealed a tunnel winding downwards.

"Where does this lead?" Harry asked, making his way carefully forward.

"The bowels of the castle. Mostly rooms that have been unoccupied for centuries."

"Hermione—Draco—" Harry began to turn back, but Snape blocked his way.

"I saw them leaving with Charlie and Luna; I believe they will make it. As for the rest, we can do them no service if we get ourselves killed." Harry gulped, but nodded.

"What _was_ that? Darkness, that noise…people were screaming but I didn't see _anything_." Snape was quiet for a moment.

"What did you feel? Magically and in your mind." Harry thought for a moment, just barely avoiding falling on his face when he tripped over loose stone.

"Anger. Hatred. Rage…Something dark."

"It is my opinion that the Dark Lord came to Hogwarts when he realized that Albus was dead. And the creature inside of him became…very, very violent."

"_How_ though? I didn't see bodies, or blood or anything. Just…darkness." Severus led him down a left fork in the tunnel and he almost quit walking when the stench caught up with him. Knowing there was nothing else, he pushed forward and breathed through his mouth.

"We have seen that this creature residing within the Dark Lord works mainly through the realm of the mind; of dreams. It is my thinking that the Yhern was able to affect the minds of those people, and at closer range the effect was deadly; much like what happened in battle earlier this night. I would guess its overriding presence led to insanity, suicide, and darker affects that we might never know. As for the darkness, that was me. I thought that if I dulled the spark of your magic and of your mind, it would make it harder for that creature to 'see' you. The darkness you 'saw' was merely the darkness I imposed upon your own mind—and that of myself. It seems to have worked." Harry quietly followed his professor into a dusty, moldy room off of the tunnel, thinking through what the other man had said.

"Then we can use that—the darkening of our own minds—to sneak up on it?" Snape sighed as he began cleaning the room, transfiguring old bookshelves into a couch and a fireplace.

"Perhaps. But Voldemort the man is still able to see with his eyes. Dimming your magical and mental signature does not erase it completely. Sneaking up on a creature such as this—blind—is not advisable. The cons outweigh the pros, in this instance." Harry sighed dejectedly.

"What will we do?" he whispered, curling up on one end of the couch. "What can we possibly do? Our army is shattered, the castle—the safest place—is unprotected. Students, faculty, and families are dying as we speak, or going insane. The castle is evacuated; it won't be long before Voldemort decides to claim it as his own headquarters. Where will we go? What will we _do_?" Snape was still standing by the door, and Harry looked at him with hopelessness etched into his gaze. The other man stared back, his face unreadable.

"I do not know about the rest. But there is one thing we may do about the castle. Come here; I will need your strength." Harry rose, excited despite himself at the prospect of some tangible form of a small victory. Snape led him to another room at the end of the tunnel; a room that seemed to be the very depth of the castle, a room that hummed with magic like nothing else Harry had ever felt.

"What is this place?" Harry asked in wonder. The room was bare and circular, meticulously clean for such a neglected part of the grounds.

"It is commonly referred to as a node, or The Node. It is where all the magic of Hogwarts ties together; the wards, the stairways, even the portraits. Most importantly it is the knot of magic created by the founders; the central point of all external magic on the grounds." Harrys mouth was a large circle as he took in the magnitude of the statement, felt the warm magic humming against his skin and the goose bumps rising on his arms.

"What can we do here?" He asked.

"Many things. What we _will_ do is send the magic of Hogwarts into a type of locked-down hibernation. Minerva was right when she said we needed to evacuate; the Hibernation cannot function under the conditions of a fully lived-in castle. What it can and will do is lock and hold onto the most important wards; using stores of magic that the headmasters of centuries have added to. In this mode a small group of people can live here indefinitely, and the castle is impenetrable. The hibernation will last as long as the stores of magic do; and I would guess that could be anywhere from one hundred to two hundred years. Unfortunately it is restricted to the older parts of the castle." Harry looked confused.

"What do you mean, older parts?" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"You really need to read Hogwarts, A History. No mind. The castle was originally built with stone enchanted by both the founders and several magical creatures in symphony with the element of Earth. Those stones were linked to this node, and the power residing in that bond is such that nothing magical or mundane can penetrate the castle while it is in Hibernation. However, over the years after the death of the founders, things changed. As you know, magic began to trickle from its human vessels generations at a time. When the student population grew too big, or the classes offered began to expand in number, the original castle was no longer large enough to house so much expansion. Headmasters over the centuries have made additions to the castle, with unenhanced stone and weaker wards. When Albus became headmaster, he was able to link those separate wards and new extensions to the node, but he was not able to enchant the stone; and so while the entire castle became stronger and further united under his guidance, the additions made after the death of the founders remained weak points in an otherwise impenetrable citadel." Harrys eyes were wide at the thought; Hogwarts had always been Hogwarts to him, never bits and pieces added here and there, weaker and stronger. He had always thought of the castle as being exactly the same as it had been created, so many centuries ago.

"What parts of the castle will be safe during hibernation?" He asked, and Snape thought for a moment.

"The dungeons. This underground. The great hall, and the dormitories. Those are the ones I am sure of. There may be other places; classes, hallways, but I am not certain which ones they are." Harry nodded.

"But—if the castle was expanded and added upon, the original castle might have its own weak spots. Surely they took out stone and expanded hallways…how can a castle-inside-a-castle go into hibernation if pieces of it are missing?" Snape looked down and away.

"It was Albus' lifes work to reform the original castle. None of the stones taken away from later additions were lost; all the headmasters knew they were enchanted, and grieved at the idea of destroying them. Albus…he managed to make the original castle complete; with additions that most people haven't even noticed. There is one hole left in the security of the original castle." Harry felt tears building at the thought of the headmaster, but blinked them away furiously.

"Where is that hole?" he asked, wondering why the other man hadn't supplied that information.

"My bedroom. I told him that I wanted no aspect changed, and no 'confounded meddling fool bringing ancient and decrepit stone into my room'." Severus' tone was flat, but Harry could tell he must be berating himself for the horrible, stupid, useless mistake. He walked over to the man and slipped an arm around his waist, sighing.

"So what do we do?" he asked as Snape stiffened at the contact.

"I can direct the wards to occlude my room altogether. They will remain in-tact, but weaker than they should be. I can stay in my living room and keep an eye over the weak spot."

"I'll stay with you," Harry stated, and Snape turned to him, pulling from his grip at the same time.

"No. It was my mistake and I'll deal with it myself." Harry searched the other mans eyes. He knew how pride could sting, knew that if Severus did not do this thing—alone—for Albus, he might never regain the loss of self-worth. Slowly the younger man nodded, and Snape turned back towards the room.

I'm going to show you—with your mind—the contours of this magic. Follow my direction and do not let your concentration slip for a second. Are you ready?" Harry nodded, and they began.

* * *

After several trying days of appiration, searching, hiding, wondering, and worry, Harry was able to round up the remaining members of the resistance and bring them back to the castle. He explained the safe parts of the castle and why, helped them set up their rooms and generally gave them all a good deal of hugs—besides Lucius, of course.

None of the news they brought was good; several hundred people had died in the attack on Hogwarts, another hundred were missing, and the remaining four hundred were en route to 'home'—and Lucius assumed they would not make it.

Their effort towards normality was constantly interrupted by their inability to traverse the majority of the castle, and soon the pall of defeat hung over their small camp once again.

Most of the faculty was present; Trewlaney having died and the strange-but-quiet DADA professor fled. Sirius and Lupin were still in attendance, much to Harrys relief, and Hermione, Draco, and Lucius had made it out and back without a scratch. Tonks had returned to the Ministry in order to report, but most in the group did not believe she would come back; the Ministry was overrun with Death Eaters, these days. Kingsly was there, and Luna and Charlie. Fred and George had gone to round up their family and bring them back; the group prayed they would return safely.

The group of resistance—so small now—began to plan new strategies. Charlie, Sirius, and Lupin would leave soon to apparate in and out, worldwide, in hopes of gathering support and knowledge of the Yhern. Minerva and the rest of the faculty would pool their resources and begin contacting major wizarding political heads in countries around the world; notifying them of the impending arrival of the 'Free British Emissaries' and speaking to them personally about the anti-Voldemort effort. Harry would continue to work through the books he had been given at Christmas, while Luna, Draco and Hermione all worked on their lessons—Harry would join them as he could.

Snape, Harry knew, would stay in his quarters, keeping his eyes on the weakest point in their defense, and brew. Potion after potion, he would create a right arsenal of all the potions their group could possibly need.

Altogether, Harry felt much better by the end of the third day, reassured by familiar faces and the activity that lit their eyes as they planned.

Not knowing what more to do with himself, he made his way to the dungeons with his books and trunk, ready for a great deal of reading.

When he arrived, Severus did not greet him, nor look up from his book. Shrugging, Harry dropped his stuff, sat on the couch, and began to read. The nagging thought of worry in his mind wound persistently throughout his thoughts, and he tried to tell himself that Severus wasn't—and hadn't been—acting odd at all.

* * *

A.N: Please review!


	25. Chapter 24: Devastation of the Soul

A/N: I have to say I've been dreadful at keeping up with this story; not even updating a single chapter since this summer! To tell you the truth I got bored with it and went off to actually DO stuff with my time, since a good chunk of my summer was taken up by writing this. However, I've always promised myself that I WONT be one of those authors that start something and never finish it, so I WILL finish it, I promise you. Anyway, I'm thinking that since it's been so long since I've written on this story, I need to re-read it after I complete this chapter. That, coupled with my writers block (I KNOW where I want to go with it, but I'm unmotivated to do so) and the sheer…amount of chapters, has brought me to the decision to split this story into two parts. I believe it would be easier for me to do so, and thus I intend to do just that. This will be the last chapter of Invictus, Part One, and I believe you will see the first chapter of Part two within a month of this last chapters debut. Please keep reviewing and let me know what you think; it will help me keep updating. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 24: Devastation of the Soul

War raged. It was not apparent to the members kept safe inside Hogwarts castle, for they did not see all there was to see from their small haven. But rage it did, as muggles died or went insane by the thousands, witches and wizards were killed, turned, or in hiding. The catastrophes were only beginning to spread worldwide, but it was rumored that The Dark Lord had followers everywhere; no one was safe and everyone was terrified.

The war was a secret one. Muggles were terrified, scrambling to assess damage and to put blame to something—someone—but they weren't yet aware of the large wizarding presence in their lives. The darkness, fear, and oppressive maliciousness had not yet spilled so far over into the muggling world that the presence of wizards was revealed.

But nonetheless, terror reigned. And nowhere stronger or more frightening was the presence of war than the place it had begun; wizarding Britain. Shops closed, houses were abandoned, and the wizarding community was largely dispersed.

Those inside Hogwarts remained informed by venturing out for a look or letters flown in to Luna and her paper; but none could see the greater magnitude of this war.

Harry sat on Severus' couch, his book laid to the side so that he could stretch a moment. Severus was in his lab, brewing, and Harry contemplated joining him, if only for the company.

He was about to propel himself from his seat when Snape walked in and sat in the armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose and summoning the scotch from the bar.

"Not going well?" Harry asked sympathetically.

"It's fine." Snapes reply was terse, and Harry wondered at the distance that had grown between them the night of the latest battle.

Silence ranged between them, and Harry was at a loss for words. What did one say, under the circumstances?

"You should probably spend the night in your own room tonight, Potter." Harry nodded. They'd gone through this every night since the battle, and currently he was too weary to fight it.

"Fine." A pause, as Harry considered what to say next. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Potter. Are your delusions about being with me beginning to wear thin?" The older man snapped, glaring at him.

"Are you projecting your anger and frustration onto me?" Harry asked instead of answering.

"You've really got to stop reading Freud. That man was unsound in more ways than one." Somehow, Harrys' quip had released the tension, and Snape actually sounded…wry.

"I'm not reading Freud. Hermione is reading Freud." Harry supplied innocently.

"And I take it you've spent hours being her guinea-pig for muggle psycho-analysis, mh?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"You've got that right! I love her, but sometimes…she is frightening when she wants to try new things." Snape hummed in agreement, and they sat in what might have been their first companionable silence in days.

"Look…" Harry broke the silence awkwardly, feeling worse as Severus actually met his eyes and held them. "Whatever is wrong, whatever is bothering you…I'm here. I know it's a bit ridiculous, because there are _a lot_ of things wrong, and _many_ things that are bothering _all of us_, but I mean it just the same. I know we're both tired of talking about the war, and planning, and feeling hopeless. But…I…I care for you, very much. And I hate it when you're upset, even though we're all upset right now. Please don't forget that I'm here, for whatever you might need or want." _I almost said I loved him. I stumbled; I was going to say it, but I backed down. I'm too scared; scared he'll reject me, scared it's not true. Scared that I don't know enough about love to begin proclaiming about it. But I almost said it, anyway. What does that mean?_ Harry thought as he watched his professor contemplate his words. The other man was looking down and away, staring at something unseen.

"And what happens, Potter, when this war ends? If we come out alive, do you _really_ believe that either of us will still want the other?" Harry was quiet in turn.

"I don't know. But I'm willing to see, to try." He finally answered; feeling like the statement was woefully inadequate to describe the fierce emotions that were tumbling through him at the mention of 'later'. Fierce protectiveness—of course they'd live through it, Severus _had_ to live through it, even if Harry didn't—raged through him, indignation at the sheer thought of the mans death. Fear at the thought. And hope, wild hope, that 'later' would prove to be as glorious and wonderful as any relationship could possibly be.

"That's not enough, Potter." Snape said harshly, even cruelly.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I think you should leave now. Please don't return without my permission." Confused and hurt, Harry left, not bothering to protest.

* * *

Harry lay awake in bed, running through the conversation in his mind over and over. Finally, he went to find Hermione, who was thankfully still awake and reading.

After explaining it to her, she tut-tutted and shook her head.

"Honestly Harry, you're such a boy sometimes."

"Whaf? Whaf I do?" Harrys mouth was full of Hermione's secret chocolate stash, and she eyed him speculatively.  
"Well, perhaps you're more like a very stupid girl." Harry's face quirked into an even larger state of confusion.

"Whaf do you meaph?" Hermione held him by the cheeks with one hand and commanded him to swallow the chocolate before responding.

"Girls eat chocolate when they're upset about their romantic life. Actually, they scarf it. Boys, on the other hand, hit things or do something aggressive and masculine." She explained patiently.

"I like chocolate! It's good all the time, not just…NOW!" Harry protested, not enjoying the comparison. "AND I was flying earlier, before I came to see you. I even hit some trees with a few exploding spells." He sounded proud, as though this masculine feat settled the matter. "Anyhow," he said as she smirked and opened her mouth to reply, "What did I miss? What did Snape say, that a girl would get, but I wouldn't?" Hermione sighed.

"Answer yes or no to these following questions, Harry. Did you basically ask Professor Snape to become more emotionally and mentally intimate with you, by making it clear that you were there for him?" Harry nodded slowly. "And when he asked you, in his Snape-ish way, how you felt about him, and where this relationship is going, did you say that you really didn't know, but were willing to figure it out?" Harry nodded again, this time with a look of imminent comprehension. "And are you REALLY all that surprised that, when you asked a very private and personal man for intimacy—offering him nothing in return—he turned you down?" Harry was now slowly hitting himself in the head against the stone wall as Hermione finished her Socratic questioning. Hermione patted him on the back.  
"I think, Harry, that you need to figure out how you feel, and tell him as much, before you start asking him to give you more of himself. Professor Snape is very private, and likely very cynical about your relationship. He most likely expects that, after the war, you will look at him and see an old man. You will leave him for someone handsome, someone your own age. And if he gives you the intimacy you ask for now, he will be more hurt, later, when—and he is sure that it's a when, Harry, not an if—you tire of him later on. Do you understand?" Harry nodded solemnly.

"Thanks Hermione. I think I need to go for a walk or something, to think this through." Hermione nodded knowingly and watched him leave the room with a worried cast to her features.

"Please, give that boy some piece of grace." She asked the quiet, still room.

* * *

Harry was sitting in a large window at the end of a corridor, as high up in the castle as the original wards extended. The night outside was speckled with stars and the reflections on the lake, a dark forest surrounding the grounds.

Harry Potter didn't know what love was. His only experience in love was that of friendship, and the sacrifices of his parents on his behalf. He had nothing to compare his feelings for Severus to, and no amount of wondering could make him certain. He realized that he had held off so long about being certain, because he knew what it would do to Severus if Harry had _thought_ he loved the older man, but had later found out he was mistaken.

And yet…he _wanted_. He wanted more from Severus, more from their relationship. He wanted to _give_ more of himself. He wanted…so many, many things.

He had been sitting there for hours. What was this thing, this love? He wanted to be with the man. He was sexually attracted to him; their sexual encounters went far beyond anything he had ever experienced, anything he could imagine. He lived for the times they were together, even if all they did was sit in silence as they read. He asked himself the last question; the question that seemed to him to be the most telling—could he imagine his life without Severus?

The answer was yes, he could. But he could not imagine ever being so happy as he was, now. Even with war, death, and destruction swirling around him, he was happier than he had ever been, or could ever imagine being—because of that dark, complicated man.

Life without him would be…blank. Devoid of…of something bright, something pure.

If Harry Potter was not in love, he was dangerously close to a condition that had haunted the human race for centuries; an emotion that had caused and ended more wars, battles, disputes, deaths, and lives than he could ever imagine.

* * *

Harry raced down the halls towards the dungeon. Even though he had not come up with a completely satisfactory answer to Snapes unspoken question—a question the man pessimistically believed he already knew the answer to—Harry felt that he had to share what he was thinking, anyway.

Upon reaching the outer door to Severus' chambers, Harry felt a horrible wrench, as though time, even space, had shifted. Then, darkness for an instant, like a cloud passing over the moon. Terrified, he drew his wand and crashed through the door, blindly thinking only of the other mans safety. The room was a shambles, a large hole in the ceiling of the unprotected side of the room gaped in accusation at Harry, for allowing Snapes' pride to outweigh his safety. Harry looked frantically about, calling for his professor. Seeing something dark on the wall closest to the hole, he approached cautiously, dreading to read what looked to be a poem, inscribed in blood.

_Death is coming for his love_

_And the boy will challenge the stars above_

_Get him back by killing shadows_

_He has little time to seek the shallows_

_Prophecy marked him, twice for certain_

_The third warning in this blood is written_

_Lose the world to save another_

_Lose one life to life recover_

_Known in ancient skies above_

_The boy will choose his selfish love_

_And the world shudders as it weeps_

_What the darkness takes, the darkness keeps_

All Harry could see through the tears that had begun streaming down his face was the one line _'Death is coming for his love…' _Severus, dead. They would surely kill him, if he wasn't dead yet.

And in that instant, Harry knew the devastating truth that he had only moments before been seeking.

Love.

* * *

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY YOU MUST READ THIS: The first chapter of Invictus, Part Two, is up and here. Now the story has been separated into two, so this will be the LAST chapter written under this title. For the rest of the tale, please refer to Invictus, Part Two. AND DONT FORGET TO REVIEW, I LOVE REVIEWS, I LOVE THEM LONG TIME BABY.


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